


2020  Whump Week Compilation

by Stressedspidergirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canonical Child Abuse, F/M, Frottage, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Poison, Poisoning, Vomiting, trials of the grasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl
Summary: Ostracism: The other young witchers resent how easily Geralt survives his first round of trials.Potions: One reacts badly with a poison he ingested, and Yennefer finds him and keeps him alive.Cursed: Dandelion is cursed to read minds. What he hears from Geralt breaks his heart.Betrayal: At a party, Geralt overhears Yennefer and Dandelion discussing what Triss had done to him in the past. He didn't know.Loneliness: Geralt wonders what his Child of Surprise will be like, and thinks about his year-mates who died.Monster: Geralt is cursed to look on the outside how he sees himself on the inside. Only true love can break the spell.Kaer Morhen: A look into the life of a young witcher-to-be at the keep.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 99
Kudos: 220





	1. Day 1: Ostracism

**Title: Ostracism**

**Ship: NA**

**Prompt Day 1**

**Warnings: Mention of the Trials/Pain**

**Summary:** “Apparently, I took the changes unusually well; I was ill only briefly. I was considered to be an exceptionally resilient brat… and was chosen for more complicated experiments as a result. They were worse. Much worse. But, as you see, I survived. The only one to live out of all those chosen for further trials. My hair’s been white ever since. […] A side effect, as they say. A trifle.”

**Word Count: 985**

“Are you well?”

“I think so,” Geralt groaned softly. “My head aches.”

“You seem uncommonly well,” Eskel whispered softly. “Seven of us died yesterday,” he added miserably.

“Seven?” Geralt tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. They were too heavy. “Who?”

“Wrong question.”

“Who’s left?”

“Us, Clovis…Dann. That’s about it.”

“So many.”

“That’s the way of it, they told us before they stuck the needles in our veins.”

“I know, Eskel,” Geralt tried to soothe his friend. “How long was I out?”

“A day or two, at most.”

“What?!” he tried to sit up and couldn’t. His body still wasn’t behaving. The potions did that, they caused raving and madness and fever…he’d seen it with his own eyes. It took a week, sometimes more, to recover. “A day or two? Are you ill?”

“No, I recovered first, you’ll recall they put me through it first.”

“And I stayed at your side as much as I was able.”

“I know. I know, Geralt.” His voice was bitter.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why two days for you?”

“I’m hardly up, I can’t… I can’t move and the room is dark,” he mumbled in a small voice.

“There’s a cloth over your eyes. I don’t know about the rest.” Eskel pulled the cloth away.

“Where are the others?”

“They wouldn’t come in. Didn’t want to watch you die and then yesterday you started recovering so easily. What makes you so special?”

“I’m not. I’m not special.”

“Did you know they’ve already chosen more experiments for you? We’ve overheard them for days now. Now that our hearing’s changed, we can’t help it. They came in and looked in on you, mumbling to themselves. Once they know you’re up, they have more they want to try.”

“I don’t…I don’t want them to,” Geralt whispered softly. The Grasses had hurt. He didn’t want to undergo more.

“What if these ones kill you? To make up for how easily you survived this time?”

“Eskel…” his voice cracked.

“I’m sorry. Geralt I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re alive. We all are.”

It hadn’t felt true, days later. When he had resumed training, learning to use his heightened senses, how to test out his new body, the other boys hadn’t wanted to work with him. The training masters had been pleased with his progress, lauding him over them and they had started to turn on him. It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t asked for any of it.

When they strapped him down kicking and screaming to undergo a second round of mutations, he thought he would die. The pain was so much worse than the first time. The agony of his very insides changing, his bones and teeth, he hadn’t even met a girl, much less fucked one and he was going to die on this table. Hadn’t killed his first monster, hadn’t survived all of his training, hadn’t earned his medallion, and he was going to die. He’d never be like a knight; he’d never save anyone. He would die on this table, alone and friendless all because he was ‘special’ and had survived once.

The first time, someone had come and laid a cool cloth over his eyes and held his hand. This time, there was no one. He overheard one of the sorcerers talking. Dann had died. He too had been chosen for ‘further testing.’ That was as long as he stayed conscious.

The next time he woke his body ached and felt like fire. He was still alone.

With no sense of time passing, he wasn’t sure how many days passed before he was fully awake. Fully himself again. If such a thing could be said. He was released to his rooms only to find Eskel not there. When he passed the training yard on wobbling legs Clovis snubbed him. Older boys who had survived who might have once thrown him a casual greeting simply stared instead. Lost without Eskel, lost under all the shame and disgust around him, he stumbled back to his room only to faint from his exertions a few feet from the bed.

They had not fed him at any point during the Changes.

When he woke up, he was in the lower bunk, Eskel’s bunk. And Eskel was in it with him. He could smell food in the room, and his stomach rumbled with hunger. Afraid it would wake his friend and have him turned out of the bed and back onto the floor, he hardly dared breathe.

“You’re awake?”

“Yes,” he said in a small voice, shrinking himself down and waiting for retribution.

“Good. You need to eat.”

Responding to the anger in his friend’s tone, he shrunk further down on himself. “I didn’t ask for this, Eskel,” he whispered. “I didn’t ask for this.” If he had felt like crying would have helped, he would have. Although the ability to relax enough to let himself feel that deeply had been mostly beaten right out of him.

“I know, I’m sorry, Geralt,” Eskel whispered, his voice softening. “It’s not as if I wanted you to get sick like I was. Or any of us.”

“You left me alone, you left me alone while they experimented on me!”

“I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t allowed in! They kept me out. I realized after the first five days you might die. I realized how much I would hate myself -I know they said the Changes will burn the feelings out of us, but I knew… we tried. I tried. No one expected you to be alive.”

“The other boys, I went to find you… the way they looked at me… they all hate me now.”

“You’re the first to live. Why you? Why did all their friends die and not you? That’s why they’re upset. If you could survive twice, why couldn’t their friends survive once?”

“That isn’t my fault!”

“No, it isn’t.”

(Sorry I'm late. I was out of town. As always I love to see your guys' opinions. <3 si alguien quisiera una version en espanol, digame. necesito practicar traduccion otra vez. Estoy olvidando mucho. )


	2. Day 2: Potions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for:  
> vague torture references. Broken bones, cut up hands.  
> bodily fluids like vomit, blood, snot, urine.

**Title: Potions**

**Ship:** Geralt x Yennefer

**Prompt Day 2**

**Warnings:** Reaction to potions/poisoning. Pain, urge to vomit, etc.

 **Summary:** “a pain so dreadful that only the greatest effort stopped him from screaming. His heart began to beat frantically and, compared to his usual pulse -four times slower than that of a normal person- it was an extremely unpleasant sensation. Everything went black, the world spun around, blurred, and dissolved.” – “drinking the elixir had never caused the effects it had that night. For an hour after drinking it he had fought cramps and extremely powerful vomiting reflexes, aware he couldn’t let himself be sick… he fell wearily into a deep sleep.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Season of Storms_

**Word Count: 1506**

He threw up. Violently. The acid seared his nose, making him choke. The smell alone was enough to make his eyes tear, and he retched helplessly trying to clear his nasal passages. When he could breathe, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Geralt could smell piss and wasn’t sure if he hoped it was his or not. Considering the alternatives.

He had survived worse before, he knew he had. When he had lost his swords. His throat felt raw and he heaved again, knowing how pointless it was to do so. Nothing was going to make the poison come up. It had been injected through a vein in his arm, it never touched his stomach. The Golden Oriole he’d taken to counteract it, had, and was now going to do him absolutely no good.

His body shook so hard he thought he might crack his teeth, and nothing he did seemed to ease the pain or his body’s need to empty his stomach. Snot clogged his nose and he choked and spat before his body convulsed again. Practically blind with pain, Geralt crawled across broken glass to the window and looked out. The drop wouldn’t kill him. Staying in this room to be found in this condition surely would. So he did what any sane person would do, and heaved himself out a window.

Something cracked inside of him, and he laid there for a few moments, blackness circling around him as stars and sparks shot through it, keeping it at bay. He whistled once, pursing his lips, then retched again, helpless. He didn’t have more potion in his belt, there was nothing that would help him. Curling into a ball he did his best to stay conscious until the sound of hooves roused him. Terror swamped him until he felt the muzzle of his horse gently lipping at his hair and clothes, whickering softly. Roach. He was saved. It took quite a bit of patience on Roach’s part as she kneeled down and did her best to encourage him to crawl onto her back. His hands were bloodied from the glass, and they hurt abominably, so much so he wondered if he had crippled himself in his desperate attempt to escape the lord’s torture room.

If he was being honest, he had no idea how he got there. He remembered a contract, a portal, and then pain. So much pain. New poisons to try. Nothing had killed him, but then finally something had happened. His memory won’t fill in the details and it’s all he can do to hold onto Roach and not fall off while she canters off before breaking into a gallop. The bouncing hurts and makes his muscles scream in pain and he knew he was hitting her saddle wrong and couldn’t imagine the pain in her back and that was the last thought he had before the darkness claimed him.

Water dripped into a bucket as a cloth is wrung out, and he turned to the sound. When he felt goosebumps break out across his skin, he realized he was naked. Concerned at this change, he wondered briefly what might be tested on him next. Tensing, he prepared to open his eyes and attack.

Cool hands touched is forehead, and he relaxed. He would know those hands anywhere. “Yennefer,” he slurred, then frowned. What was wrong with him?

“I’m here. Try not to move. Or speak. Not yet.”

He knew that arguing with Yennefer was often pointless, but also that she could read minds. Hopeful she might be listening in, he wanted her to tell him what was going on.

“I suppose you won’t settle until you know. Of course not, then you wouldn’t be you.”

Gentle hands ran over his chest and stomach and he flinched in pain.

“I don’t know everything that happened. You’re lucky we have mutual friends. One of them notified me you had been hurt. Gone on a contract and disappeared. I set about looking for you, more out of curiosity than concern. A mutated beast won’t kill you, you’re too good at your job. Then I heard of some lord who wanted his sorcerer to develop the world’s best poison and I started to worry.

“I wasn’t expecting Roach to bring you to me. I’m not sure she meant to, either. I hadn’t planned to be in that town as long as I was. I got delayed.”

The soft splashing of water resumed and he realized she was wringing out a cloth. Then he felt it against his forehead and temples and near whimpered in relief. His head ached. All of him ached. The cool fabric was a blessing and when his jaw relaxed, he hadn’t even realized he’d clenched it before.

“You were unconscious, looked like you’d taken some of the potions you take before a contract. I’m not sure what was done to you. I thought about taking some of your blood to find out, but the idea of hurting you worse upset me deeply. You cut through some tendons in your fingers. Or someone else did, I don’t know. I’ve repaired them, but you mustn’t use your hands just yet.”

The cloth was moved down his neck, back up behind his ears, then along his collarbones and chest before it was returned to the bucket and wrung out again. She ran it over his arms and under them, and he was glad for a moment he wasn’t ticklish. The water dripping might have made him twitch and injure himself further.

“You broke two bones in your leg, snapped your wrist, and then somehow also cracked your skull.” The irritation and fear in her voice blended together and all he heard was anger. “You could have died. I saw enough in your dreams that I know you threw yourself out the window. And the worst part is you thought the jump wasn’t so far. It was near three stories. Even with your witcher’s mutations you’re lucky to have lived. It’s a good thing you hit legs first, then fell on your arms. A small miracle you broke as few bones as you did. Lucky Roach was able to get you onto her back at all. I know you didn’t do it. Clever girl probably did most of the work on her own.”

That tracked with what he remembered. She had lipped at his shirt, bit him, he thinks, and shoved him as best she could with her head after she’d knelt down. He had dragged himself into the saddle and slipped off twice when she tried to stand before he finally stayed in. His backside and groin ache and he knows he rode poorly. Hopefully Roach was less sore.

“She’s fine. I looked her over, she’s eating the finest mix of grains and grasses and she’s enjoying quite the beautiful stable. Dry, mucked out twice a day, all of that. Just like you deserve the pounding your balls took, doing something that stupid.” More water dripping, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You know full well I’d miss them just as much as you would.”

The cloth swept across his belly and he hissed in pain, the cloth froze.

“I don’t see bruising, Geralt. Is it truly the skin that hurts?” Gentle fingers probe his abdomen, palpating gently. Tears worked their way past his eyelids to run over his temples. “I’ll come back to this,” her voice was softer, kinder.

Her touch moved across his body and down his legs, and he found himself trembling. The splash of the cloth hitting water startled him, and he bit back a whimper when the sharp movement made him jostle half healed bones. Jars were corked and uncorked, and the sharp scent of various herbs stung his nose. Geralt could barely feel flakes of them touch his skin, but he knew from the sound alone Yennefer was lightly crumbling some over his stomach.

“I’ll get you some water to drink in a moment. Ease your throat. Is there a reason you haven’t opened your eyes?”

He considered this and found he couldn’t. At least not yet. They fluttered when he tried but they were too heavy for him to lift. His whole body was heavy and painful. It only moved of its own will when the pain increased and it tried to dance away. The words she spoke in Elder danced past him and he couldn’t grasp them. Fire flashed across his belly and he would have screamed but it was over before he could. His gut cramped again briefly and he was fairly sure if his bladder hadn’t been empty he would have pissed himself.

“I’m sorry Geralt, I honestly had no idea it would hurt that badly.” Cool hands ran over his abdomen and to both their relief it didn’t hurt him this time. “Rest, darling, just rest. I’ll take care of you.”

He believed her. Any time he’d been badly hurt, she had helped him. If she had known about it. 

He slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get these written up and posted before the 11th. I guess leaving town for 5 days throws a crimp in all the plans. And I know that "Monster" is going to take me ages. I don't know if I'll beat the clock. 
> 
> Honestly debating coming back to this and expanding it. But this seemed like a good place to end it. Those of you familiar with my writing know that brevity and I are not friends. 
> 
> As always, comments are loved. They help keep me motivated to keep going.


	3. Day 3: Cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note:   
> If you haven't read the books, Coral "entices" Geralt into her bed after breaking the limbs of her assistant who he flirts with.   
> Triss straight up uses magic to put him there. This fic doesn't describe any of it, but references it a few times.

**Title** : Cursed

 **Ship:** Geralt x Dandelion

 **Prompt Day:** 3

 **Medium** : Books / Netflix Mashup

 **Warnings:** Self-hatred, references to past abuse Geralt has canonically suffered. Non-graphic sex.

 **Summary:** “You think you’re different. You flaunt your otherness, what you consider abnormal. You aggressively impose that abnormality on others, not understanding that for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everyone was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells?” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Sword of Destiny_

Dandelion is cursed to read minds and finds out just how wrong his past words have been.

 **Word Count** : 8651

 **Author’s Note** : This exchange always bothered me in the books. Dandelion dismissing the obvious pain and humiliation and suffering Geralt endures because he’s a witcher. Arguably in some ways he probably thinks he’s helping but it doesn’t make things any better for Geralt in general. I wanted a less verbose Geralt to give a reason for the curse, So I’m tossing in some Netflix canon.

Dandelion had always wondered what Geralt was thinking. His companion was usually taciturn, and at turns rude. He spoke at length on monsters, and not much else. Not to mention some of Geralt’s other bedpartners hadn’t seemed to be… on the up and up. Coral had left Dandelion with so many questions, and Geralt hadn’t seemed to know why he was bedding the witch either. At least with Yennefer he knew. Even if he was an idiot about it.

Triss hadn’t seemed right, either, he had never known Geralt to have any interest in her, and then he’d found himself in her bed. Needless to say, the bard was occasionally left wondering if Geralt truly wanted to be in his bed, or was just grateful for any company at all. He believed himself too other to find an easily willing bedpartner, and frequently fucked women who saw him as a curiosity to satisfy rather than a man. Or at least he had. Now, he was rubbing himself against the bard several times a week. While Geralt had given no indication he wanted to stray, or wasn’t enjoying himself, Dandelion still wondered. He had never known Geralt to bed a man before, but he supposed the witcher’s keep only housed men, and perhaps that’s how he’d started his ‘career’ as it were. The poet had never been brave enough to ask.

So when he found himself in town waiting for Geralt to come back from a contract, he went browsing local shops and markets to kill time. He hadn’t intended to go into a magic shop, it wasn’t as if he needed philters or potions to enhance their lovemaking. Nor much of anything else that he would find there. Geralt was free of disease, as was he, so he didn’t need cures.

Dandelion did, however, debate on some healing salves and bruise balms for his companion. Geralt wouldn’t outwardly appreciate it but would allow the poet to apply them to his hurts. A book caught his eye as he browsed, the shopkeeper busy with another set of patrons off in the corner of the shop. Having spent enough time around witchers and sorcerers, Dandelion knew this shop was the real deal. The book was likely to be a real spell book of sorts. To amuse himself, he began to flip through it.

There was a ‘curse’ of some kind, to be able to read a person’s mind. The parts he skimmed were the opening parts about prying, lesson learned, curse, deepest secrets, and so forth. What he committed to memory were the ingredients and other steps. Some herbs he already had, something of Geralt’s, or something that held his essence…well he shed that white hair all over and Dandelion was sure he’d find some on their pillow or in their bags somewhere. If not, there would be something else of his that should do. Then he had to speak some words in Elder and that should be enough. Dandelion could not tap into the Source, but the spell didn’t seem to require it if the person you were ‘cursing’ to have their thoughts read could. Or perhaps the curse was the person who would then be able to read minds? The spell would end when it ended, he didn’t bother to read anything about that, either.

A harmless little gimmick. It probably wouldn’t work, and if it did, he would get his question answered and the spell would fade away.

He purchased some extra bandaging, a little more healing salve, and then went back to the attic they were staying in. The only entrance was external, so he wouldn’t have to pass through the house. A sort of friend of Geralt’s had been happy to give them a place to stay. There was a small table and chair, both rickety, and a paillasse to sleep on with a few candles here and there in small dishes around the room. Dandelion set up the healing supplies on the table, in case they were needed. Geralt didn’t always get hurt, or sometimes the most he got was a bruise or two. And other times… other times he came back a mess.

Bored after a while, he had explored the town quite thoroughly and had found nothing all that interesting to do. Ordinarily he might have gone to a brothel, but he was quite content with Geralt who did not especially enjoy when his partners left his bed. Throughout the years he and Yennefer had worked out an arrangement where they only slept with others when they weren’t together. Dandelion privately wondered if Yennefer maintained this promise, but Geralt had enhanced senses and should know. Or at least guess. And if he didn’t want to, that was his choice.

If nothing else, Dandelion had stayed faithful, and would continue to do so. Fingers drumming against his leg as he paced about, he recalled the ‘curse’. Deciding since he had no magical talent and Geralt had very little, perhaps he could try it, he set about gathering up the ingredients. Since it wasn’t going to work, there was no harm in playing pretend was there? Even if part of him hoped it would. The insight would be invaluable. Especially since Geralt was so awful at giving him details for the ballads.

Bored after, he fell asleep waiting for Geralt.

Hooves clattering and steps on the stairs leading up to the attic woke him and he was surprised to find Geralt stripped of his armor and clean already. Geralt must have gone and turned over proof of his kill and gotten paid, then gone to bathe. He always hid his money away and never shared where he put it and Dandelion didn’t much care. Better he didn’t know in case someone tried to get it.

“You’re back!” Dandelion smiled, then started oddly and frowned. _Of course I’m back._ He hadn’t seen Geralt’s mouth move and honestly he hadn’t expected the spell to work. _Why would you think I wasn’t coming back? It was just a measly little dracolizard._ “I’m just happy to see you, and clean before I get to you, to boot.”

“Hmm.” _I can wash myself. I don’t always need you to do it. Even if it sometimes feels nice. I was washing myself my whole life until you showed up and kept taking over. Without asking._

“I suppose that’s that, here, let me look you over, alright? Did you get hurt?”

“No,” Geralt answers the second question but then begins tugging his shirt off to prove to the bard he isn’t lying. _Not going to believe me anyway. Never take me at my word when it comes to injuries. Smelled the bruise balm from outside it’s so strong. Don’t fuss over me, just kiss me._

Able to see the hunger in Geralt’s face even under the annoyance of his thoughts, Dandelion quickly packed away the medical supplies in a bag and hoped that would lessen the smell of the salve. Then turned to Geralt who was stripping out of his pants, ostensibly to prove he was uninjured. But with the ability to read minds the poet knew Geralt wanted a lot more than a few kisses. And even without the ability, his half hard cock hanging between his legs was another good indicator of his hopes.

_Don’t talk at me, just love me. Or tell me you aren’t going to and I’ll get dressed again._

“Don’t you look a sight?” The bard smiled, and felt his smile falter a little.

“Hmm.” _I know I’m hideous. I’ve seen myself in the doppler. I don’t own a mirror for that reason. I don’t see why you insist on reminding me._

“Oh love,” Dandelion breathed out miserably. “Come to me, help me out of these clothes, they’re far fussier than yours.”

“Hurry up, then,” Geralt stepped in to assist him. _If you drag this out the elixirs will stop any of it from happening. And after the day I’ve had, I need something good. I need to feel good. You’ve told me that matters to you, prove it. Prove it before the elixirs wear out entirely. Yennefer isn’t here with her little spell._

“I’m hurrying,” Dandelion agreed, soon naked and willing. “I love you so much,” he carefully began stroking Geralt, pushing him back towards the bed. He had seen what the witcher wanted, and he was determined to give it to him. It was a lovely image, and incredibly appealing. Soon, he was unable to speak, kissing Geralt as he pushed him down into the bed. Things rather devolved from there.

 _Easy, easy, my skin is more sensitive than yours. Quiet, quiet, not too loud, oh, oh yes more of that, please don’t stop,_ oh, _oh. Push against me, I want all of you, be closer. Like that, just like that, Gentle, gentle, please, yes, treat me like that._

_I can bear it, I can bear the pain if you want to be rough. Whatever it takes._

The poet had gone from stroking him off to bringing their bodies in close to rub himself against Geralt, and the thoughts running through the witcher’s head caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought once he had ever hurt his partner in bed, never known how sensitive he was to the touch especially while aroused. Perhaps the elixirs were the cause this time, he wasn’t sure, he always made sure Geralt came, and surely he wouldn’t if he wasn’t pleased? He always came back seeking more… had Dandelion been doing him some kind of disservice this whole time?

He slipped down Geralt’s body, as good as moving together had felt, he wanted to do something special. Something they didn’t indulge in often. As he brought his mouth to Geralt’s cock, he half wondered if the spell wore off because Geralt stopped thinking entirely for a few minutes.

Then, his thoughts resumed.

Geralt groaned softly, back arching and body trembling. _So good at that, yes, like that. Oh, you’ve never been that gentle before, it’s good. So good. Always do it like this. Fuck._ Fuck. _I’m going to come early. Being wound up tight as a spring, I can feel it. Oh. Oh, please do this again. Do that. Do that… yes… I don’t want it to be over so soon._

Dandelion smiled when Geralt cried out quietly, muffling his voice with a hand over his mouth. The witcher reached out for him, determined to bring him to his own climax, to let him share in how good he felt, only to find the bard already satisfied. “Pleasing you pleases me,” Dandelion told him shortly, kissing him softly. He was now realizing that while sometimes Geralt’s hands were frantic, gripping and seeking, it was fear that drove him to reach like that. To try and cover what he could before he thought he would lose it. But his kisses, the witcher always kissed like he was kissing someone precious and fragile. Now Dandelion understood it. He gently kissed Geralt’s palms and the tips of his calloused fingers, holding one against his cheek.

“Need to sleep some,” Geralt informed him. _Damned elixirs. I’d rather just go another round. Wanted more of you. Want all of you. Stay with me. I hate sleeping alone._

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of a nap myself.” Dandelion surprised them both by wrapping himself around Geralt for a change. He buried his face in the nape of the witcher’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Soap had given way to sweat and sex, and the bard found he didn’t care. He kissed the back of Geralt’s neck gently and held him closer.

_Eskel used to do this. It brought him comfort to hold me. As much as it did me. No one’s held me like this since I was a snot-nosed brat back at the keep. Feels nice. I’m so tired. So tired of hunting down these monsters that by all rights didn’t do much wrong. No more so than a human. And then getting treated like shit on a boot for it. Fucking bastards tried to underpay me , again. If a local barrister hadn’t overheard us shouting about the contract I might not have got paid at all._

_Sometimes I half hope the monsters will kill me, but then I come back and you’re here, and it’s less bad. You aren’t afraid to touch me, to hold me, and I feel a little less alone. Of course if you knew you’d lord it over me, my weakness. I can see the little caper you’d cut, mocking me for hiding my feelings. I wish I could tell you. I’m just so sick and tired of being hurt._

Dandelion found himself stroking Geralt’s hair until the witcher fell asleep, utterly exhausted. The poet now felt he understood why the spell was listed as a curse. He had thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad, learning more about Geralt’s preferences in their bed. Even if it cut him to the bone to know the witcher wouldn’t speak up. Of course, sharing his thoughts also made Dandelion aware of just how strong Geralt’s enhanced senses were and how much he filtered out. The bard had no such training and had found every noise and smell Geralt was aware of rather distracting. It had pleased him, however, to know the witcher liked the smell of him.

Dandelion fell asleep again, one arm wrapped snugly around Geralt’s middle.

_Please, I don’t want to. It hurt. I don’t understand._ _No, no, no stop._ _Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt them. Do what you want to me. Cut me open, take out my eyes, castrate me, all the things you’ve threatened, just don’t hurt them. I’ll beg. I’ll beg for you to hurt me if that will stop you. Please no, leave him alone, don’t make me watch. No, not her, how can I choose? Take me. Hurt me. Cut me into pieces but don’t ask me to choose._

Dandelion woke up in the room, darkness preventing him from seeing much of anything. Geralt was still asleep in his arms and it took him several minutes to realize that one, the pain was fake, and two Geralt was still dreaming. The witcher wasn’t doing anything to indicate his distress, and the bard smoothed a hand over him in an attempt to calm him. The muscles under his palm were rigid, and nothing he did helped. Geralt was well and truly trapped in the nightmare. No wonder he didn’t like sleeping alone. Dandelion pulled himself out of the bed and found some matches to light some of the candles around the room. Then he tugged on his smallclothes and a pair of pants before attempting to wake Geralt again.

Shaking his shoulder and springing away to avoid a blow worked. “Geralt, Geralt wake up, I’m here.”

 _Blind, blind and going to die, oh, there’s fire. I hate being burned._ “Dandelion?” his voice was thick with sleep, throat tight from refusing to scream.

“Here, drink some water,” the bard passed over a cup. The water wasn’t much cooler than the room, but it was something and Geralt slaked his thirst with little ceremony. “Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why did you wake me?” _Thank the gods you did. How did you know? Did I cry out? I had thought they beat that out of me long ago. I thought I had learned to be quiet. Am I slipping?_

“You just felt tense, that’s all. I woke up and made to gather you back up into my arms and you were stiff as a rock,” Dandelion felt his heart squeeze. Oh, this was awful. Knowing all of this was awful. He could see the scene in his mind’s eye, as Geralt remembered it. The nightmares, an older man with lambent eyes dragging him from his bed to belt him for disturbing the night. Eyes stinging, Dandelion held Geralt as close as the witcher allowed.

“Are you alright?”

“A bad dream of my own,” he lied, heart pounding against his ribs. Who would hit a child for having a nightmare? No one with a heart, at the very least. “You know I love you?”

“Yes, Dandelion, so you’ve said.” _To thousands of women and men I’m sure. And I’m sure you always think you mean it. Well, I know you don’t. I know you didn’t care much about Veverka or Akeretta. Or a great deal of the others you just wanted to dip your cock in someone else. If it isn’t wet you seem to think it’ll dry up and die like a plant in the desert. I don’t want to be one of your Veverkas. I don’t think I can much decide if what I feel for you is the same as what you feel for me until I know what you mean when you say ‘I love you’. You’ve said it to so many and for so little reason who can blame me for thinking it insincere? Much like “my little dog doesn’t bite” is always insincere. “My son is a good boy; it was that hussy that made him do it.” I wish I believed you. I want to. But it will hurt less when you turn to your next conquest if I don’t let myself believe you now._

“I mean it, Geralt. I mean it,” Dandelion told him raggedly, pained at what he heard in his lover’s mind. “Yours is the last bed I mean to share.”

“So you’ve said.” _He probably believes it too, poor bastard. He might even feel guilty when it turns out not to be true. I won’t blame him. It won’t be his fault. It’s his very nature. Part of being part of his guild, even. I knew this before I got involved with him in this way. I wish he meant it. I wish he meant it like I would mean it if I could bear to say it._

Dandelion resolved then and there to go back to the shop once it was open and reread how exactly to end the spell. This is wrong. He’ll tell Geralt, he should probably tell him now, but he doesn’t mean to keep it up. He’s done them both a disservice. And in some ways, done them both a service, but this is enough. He can’t sleep and spends the rest of the night holding Geralt and stroking his hair. The witcher doesn’t dream again until near daybreak. A faceless woman with hair that shifted between red and chestnut straddled him, and he felt helpless.

Dandelion shook him awake gently, he knew what that dream meant, even if Geralt didn’t. The witcher woke hopelessly confused about his own distress. But the poet understood the confusion was deliberate. In his dream he could taste the cold tang of magic and knew exactly what was happening. It didn’t benefit him to admit any of that to himself, however, and so he didn’t. Dandelion would not be the one to make him, not when Geralt had so many other pressing horrors to face. It would be wrong to add more. At least he knew that much.

“Let’s go get us some food,” the bard suggested. “The bakeries have already got stalls in the market for people setting up. My treat, I sang in a few taverns the past two days while you were off hunting. My purse is full.” And no one had cheated him anything. Not to mention his food and drink had been paid. “And no, Geralt, I didn’t fuck anyone while you were gone. I waited for you. As I have for the past few years now.”

_He isn’t lying. His heart didn’t so much as stutter. Although perhaps it was in the phrasing. Make love. Maybe he made love to someone and he’s just fucking me. Either way it won’t do to dwell on it._

“I did not have sex of any kind with anyone. I was celibate in your absence. I missed you desperately.”

_He believes that, too. Perhaps he was faithful. Perhaps he has been as he says. I wonder for how long? I don’t want to go out to the market. I don’t want to see people notice what I am. They won’t feed me anyway. Dandelion won’t listen. What did he tell me all those years ago? There was nothing special about me? I was one of the most ordinary men other than my eyes and senses? I can’t remember his exact turn of phrase. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be hated everywhere he goes. No point in arguing. I don’t want to stay here alone. I’ll just hang back, let him do the haggling. Even if it means I’ll have to watch him flirt with every stall owner in town as we go._

They left the room after dressing and cleaning up, Dandelion insisting on gently wiping Geralt down first. He knew the witcher enjoyed it and found the gentle intimacy just as pleasurable as the sex they’d had earlier. So few people were willing to touch him with genuine kindness that it always pleased him. It hurt a little, to Dandelion, that Geralt felt more loved in those little moments then he did at almost any other time. But now he knew. Now he would go out of his way to have more small moments like this between them.

The agony of what he’d done cut him to the bone, knowing he had betrayed Geralt’s trust. He had become another person who would take advantage and hurt him. He would use this experience, this mistake, to change how he treated the witcher. He would treat him more like a lover. When Geralt would allow it, at least.

He slipped his arm through Geralt’s, smiling as he spoke to him at length about the gossip of the town, determined to pretend all was well. Geralt’s internal commentary about the vagaries of man and their general idiocy almost made him laugh and he realized Geralt enjoyed these talks as much as he did. He just felt like his opinion or comments would be unwelcome or extraneous. Dandelion wasn’t sure how to draw them out of him, but it was good to know they were there. In spite of his feigned irritation.

“Here, this stall has a kind of pastry you like,” Dandelion smiled, squeezing Geralt’s arm gently. “The one next to it has juice, I’ll get us some. It seems a touch nicer than water. Or watery ale so early. The sun’s hardly up. Would you like to look for a place we could rest and eat?” There, that should allow Geralt to stay hidden.

He could hear Geralt’s vague but constant internal fear people would notice him and what they would do when they did. Not everyone got ugly, but so many did. The barrage of memories of being stoned, struck, whipped, slapped, beaten, and forced out threatened to choke the poet, and he took a deep breath. It got easier when Geralt was a little further away.

Stooped on purpose, to act more like his hair was from age than a ‘harmless’ side effect of the experiments, he wanted to draw up the hood of his cloak, but no one else had and so he would still stand out like a sore thumb. His headband was in his pocket, where it couldn’t stop his hair from hiding his face. He knew in the sunlight his pupils were as slits, preventing him from being blinded by the sun. He kept his eyes cast downwards, less chance of anyone seeing him.

_Don’t look at me. I’m not here. I am simply part of the scenery. I won’t hurt you. I was so stupid to think that Vesemir was wrong. I was so stupid to think that I would be seen as anything other than what I am: a monster and a mutant. What else do I do but what monsters do? Kill, fuck, eat, sleep…_

_Cats know us for what we are, that’s why they hiss and run. Just once, though, I might like to touch one. I’ve heard them purr from a distance, but I can’t imagine what it feels like to touch one while it’s purring. Not that I like them, but I can’t hate them, either. They perform a task. They kill vermin. Perhaps that’s another reason they hate us. How many of them died to allow their genes to be mutated to ours? Hundreds? Thousands? I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want eyes like a cat. I didn’t even want to be a witcher, I don’t think. I can’t recall anymore. Now, all I want is to be left in peace. A kind touch, food in my belly, and a contract to make sure none of that changes._

“Here, love, did you find us a place?”

“It’s a short walk.”

“That’s fine by me, I think I remembered all your favorites.”

It was then that Geralt noticed the basket the bard is carrying. There were a few small skins of juice, and several cloth wrapped items. He sniffs appreciatively, nostrils flaring when he caught the scents of cinnamon, rhubarb, and apple. There was more, like strawberry, and something he didn’t recognize that smelled sweet. His mouth watered and Dandelion kissed his cheek.

“No one had anything with meat, and I didn’t want to get any pierogis to put in and have the onion taint the sweets. We can go back later if you’re still hungry. I know how you like pierogis,” Dandelion smiled.

Geralt smiled fondly back, oddly relaxed. His body language eased, and he forgot to hunch in on himself for a while. His sharp hearing picked up the unkind words about his appearance some people shared behind his back, guessing him to be a witcher. He hunched back down, trying to hide behind Dandelion’s peacocked clothing. Sometimes it worked. He’d left his swords in Roach’s care, knowing she would stomp anyone half to death for trying to take them. He had a dagger in his belt, and a few other knives. He wasn’t defenseless. Not that he needed a weapon to protect himself.

Dandelion felt himself wilt. Nothing he did was good enough to stop the world from hurting his lover. How did Geralt bear it? he wondered, heartsick. No wonder he and Yennefer couldn’t last if she could read his mind like that at all times. The misery would be enough to make anyone despair. And it was nothing Geralt did, it was everything around him. The minute he let himself forget someone did or said something. He had to constantly be aware of himself. He gently rubbed a hand up and down Geralt’s back while they waited for a cart to pass.

_Feels nice. It’s almost like he knew I needed it. It was good to walk arm and arm, before. As friends. I know he sticks up for me, I know he cares about me. It’s good to be reminded of it in the simple things, too._

Geralt lead them to a soft patch of grass under a tree he’d noticed on their way into town. It was far enough away from the main path to avoid notice, without being inconveniently far from the town. He had anticipated needing a place to be that would shelter him from the people and had scoped out several likely spots that would allow him to resupply without putting him in danger. Dandelion felt another piece of his heart break off and shatter.

They would eat, he would go back to town with Geralt, and take him to the shop. He would admit what he did and read the spell again and find out how to end it, and he would grovel. He would apologize, he would do whatever it took to fix things between them and let Geralt know he hadn’t truly even thought it would work. He had been bored, and foolish, and selfish. Geralt often forgave him, even when he shouldn’t. He would even offer to let Geralt spell him, instead. Let him see how remorseful he was, how much he realized what he had done was horrible and wrong. Then from there, Geralt could decide to forgive him or not. If nothing else, hopefully Geralt would see that he meant it when he confessed his love. Every time. And even if the witcher chose to leave, at least he could know that much.

They ate breakfast together, Geralt humming in pleasure to see cinnamon and sugar dusted sweet rolls. These had small streaks of cinnamon and sugar also baked into the dough and he ate them carefully, doing his best not to lose a single grain of sugar to the grass beneath them.

“I should have gotten more of those. I’ll go back first thing tomorrow. Get you an even half dozen or more if they have it,” Dandelion promised. He had gotten enough for both of them to share but hadn’t said anything about it. He realized now Geralt often went hungry or didn’t eat enough in general, trying to make sure Dandelion had enough. His own appetite diminished, he slowly ate one of the apricot tarts he’d gotten, knowing Geralt wasn’t overly fond of them. When the witcher offered him one of the sweet rolls he shook his head, pained to know the offer was genuine. Geralt wanted to share with him. “Oh, please, love, eat them all. I know how much you love them. We can get more.”

Geralt then picked out some of the rhubarb tarts, surprised that Dandelion was willing to indulge him on these. It was Yennefer who had introduced him to rhubarb in general, initially in the form of various jams. Some of which had been thrown rather than served with food. Some were mixed with other fruits, and each time he offered to share he was gently denied and so he ate them. They wouldn’t keep without getting horribly soggy. The flaky pastry with the warm fruit was a comfort. It had been ages since they’d eaten like this. When the bard wasn’t the one doing the purchasing half the time they gave Geralt the worst food.

_Of course, I can eat it, what does it matter if it’s burned? Or perhaps a bit turned? It won’t make me sick. I can survive just about anything, including a little mold. Can’t count how many times I’ve been given awful supplies. Didn’t have any choice but to eat them. What was I going to do, go hungry? Some places don’t have enough hunting I could turn down moldy bread and cheese. This is so much better. Warm and fresh, the berries mixed in still sweet and tart… I don’t see why he follows me about when he could eat like this always. He’s a fucking viscount. And what have I got to offer him? Jerked meat or rabbit stew if that. I can’t feed him rotten supplies. Just like the tavern last week gave me the leavings from the stew, hardly any meat. Mostly just lumps of fat and gristle, but I was hungry. They didn’t even want to give me that much. I’m just glad their bad will stops with me, and doesn’t extend to him, he doesn’t deserve it. I’m not human, I can digest almost anything, poison or food._

His thoughts were interrupted by a new kind of fruit tart he hadn’t had before, and he didn’t think of anything else while he ate it, enjoying the tangy sweet flavor of the yellow fruit cut into rings and set on top of a lightly flavored jam. At his insistence, Dandelion took a bite and promised to procure more before they left. He was aware of Dandelion’s general reek of misery, but he wasn’t sure what was causing it. It left him at times, and then came back at others and Geralt just felt lost. He didn’t think he was the cause of it, or at least he hoped not.

“You’ve got some preserve on your cheek,” Dandelion smiled, gently wiping it away and licking it off his finger. He leaned over to kiss the spot, lightly licking Geralt’s skin to clear away the stickiness. The witcher squirmed slightly at the attention, both pleased and embarrassed. The bard grinned widely, “Not as sweet as you, of course, but not bad.” He hated how Geralt dismissed the compliment out of hand before briefly wondering if his seed was sweet and he’d never noticed. The bard almost choked on his own spit at that last part. “Oh love, you’re so much more than you can ever believe yourself to be,” he said sadly.

Geralt looked at him sharply, slowing down on his decimation of their breakfast supplies for a moment before shrugging it off. It didn’t matter. Kind words hide bastard truths. He was much worse than he thought, usually, and if he let himself forget even for a moment people reminded him in spades.

Content to finish up the last of the apple tarts, he had noticed Dandelion not eating much, but several prompts to eat as much as he wanted were met with no resistance. He was starving after the contract. The meal he’d managed to get before returning to Dandelion had been mediocre at best. Thankfully not half rotten, but nothing filling. Some watery soup and stringy meat with almost no vegetables had done nothing but take the worst of the edge off his hunger. Mostly full, he picks idly at the last roll in the basket, enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Would you like me to get more?”

“No,” Geralt told him quietly. He cracked open one of the skins and sipped slowly, pleased to taste a mix of fruits in the juice. He passed the skin to the bard who drank deeply before passing it back.

They did this with the others before Dandelion took a few deep breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“You are always so much more perceptive than I give you credit for. I did something foolish, but it won’t… I suppose it only affects us, and even then, not as much as it could. Not as negatively as it could. Or perhaps badly. Geralt I don’t know how to… can we just sit a few moments and enjoy the peace before I ruin it?”

“Us?”

“Not physically. You won’t be harmed, I won’t be harmed. All…I know what you’re thinking.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“No, Geralt, I can literally read… you’re upset I’ve hidden something from you. Perhaps lied. You’re wondering if the food was a bribe. It wasn’t. I genuinely wanted to please you. You’re as welcome to be as angry as you’d like for as long as you’d like, but I didn’t make this mistake with the intention to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted to please you. And yes, I did remember the foods you liked, I didn’t need to see into your mind to do that. You weren’t even thinking of them when I bought breakfast, you were worried about how if you’d gone to get it you’d get bread full of weevils and rot and wouldn’t know how to hide it from me and still find me food to eat.”

Geralt’s eyes widened in alarm. “How?”

“I did it, I cocked it up, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t even done to me. I was at the healer’s shop looking for things in case you were injured. I saw a spell to allow one to read another person’s mind… and I tried it. I never thought it would work. I hope you know that. I know how you have trouble believing me when I’m sincere. I can’t blame you. I simply… I simply wanted to be… the truth of it, since you can’t hide anything from me and none of this is right, the truth is I was worried you had fallen into my bed not by choice. And I wanted the truth of it. And I truly, truly did not for even a moment think the spell would work. Not a moment. I thought it would fail and I would laugh at myself and move on. But you came back and I could hear you.” He fidgeted with his hands miserably, knowing what he did was despicable. Geralt’s thoughts were mostly confused, not angry. That was worse, somehow.

“I should have asked you, I know. But I did. And I got an answer but I couldn’t quite believe it. After all, you remember Triss rather fondly when you shouldn’t. Coral, too. I didn’t want us to be like that. I wanted to make sure you were as willing as you said. But I didn’t… I didn’t think it would _work._ And then I found out I hadn’t been pleasing you in bed as well as I thought -don’t protest, it’s true. I didn’t realize half the time I was hurting you a little. I had no idea how sensitive… how enhanced your sense of touch was. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I truly didn’t. That’s another thing I should have asked, but I didn’t… I knew about your hearing and sight, and sense of smell, but I had no idea it had changed even how you felt. No wonder you hate certain shirts of mine or won’t change what you wear. Oh, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I was planning on going straight to the shop with you right after to see how to end it. I should never have done this. I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t even go looking for it.”

Geralt’s thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He had no idea what he’d exposed of himself that he hadn’t meant to, and he felt small and hurt. The anger Dandelion was waiting for never came. Even if it should have.

“I don’t need you to forgive me, or at least. I don’t deserve it, so I’m not asking, but let’s… let’s go to the shop, please. Let me undo this. Or you can cast it on me, if you’d rather. But, Geralt, it hasn’t… none of this has changed how I feel about you. I see I have made so many errors and misjudged you in other ways, but I don’t… I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it and I can see how ashamed you are. I’m the one who did the wrong thing, Geralt, not you. Please… please don’t use this as another reason to hate yourself. Hate me, if you must hate anyone. I did this without telling you, without thinking for a moment of the consequences. I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t… I didn’t think at all. That was wrong of me. I was wrong. Not you. Oh, love, I am so sorry. What I did was so unbearably wrong.”

Geralt flinched away from his touch, hunching down miserably in the grass. “Do you need me to go to the shop and see the book? Am I necessary for you to cast anything or uncast it?”

“Please…. I don’t know. I don’t know how well distance will even work. You’re right to be leery of me. Oh, Geralt, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just… who you are.” He truly believed that. Nosy, insatiable for gossip and rumors and things to make songs of. He should have known something like this might eventually happen. He was too broken and not trustworthy enough to be just asked outright. He would have answered. Maybe not every time, or not in excruciating detail. But he would have answered. Maybe not years ago, but now? Since they had first bedded each other? He would have. It was only fair. “I suppose some good might come of it,” he tried to smile. Instead he felt sick to death inside and couldn’t understand why.

“Oh, Geralt. I… what I did, I know you don’t… I can’t not see it, so let’s use that good you spoke of. You feel betrayed. What I did was a betrayal. Rather than tell you the minute I knew the spell had worked I let it go. Knowing how to please you better in bed seemed wonderful. Sharing your nightmares and being able to wake you and comfort you was one of the best and worst nights of my life. I hate you went through any of that.” He swallowed hard, knowing the icy feeling in the pit of his belly was Geralt’s, not his own. “I’ve seen the scars all over your body Geralt, I knew some of them came from human hands. Especially the ones that looked like a belt or switch. Your backside and well over half your back are covered in them. That was never hidden from me. Not even under all the other scars from monsters. It was good that you let me be there for you. But you didn’t know…

“Geralt, if you don’t choose to walk away, which I would understand, I want you to promise me you’ll wake me, next time. Don’t let yourself suffer alone needlessly. Provided you ever want to share my bed again.”

Geralt’s chest ached, he didn’t want to lose any of what they’d had. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. His own hurt hardly mattered, he had upset his friend. He was upsetting his friend. His mouth was dry and he had no words, perhaps it wasn’t so awful Dandelion could see his thoughts to know he didn’t want to push the bard away. Not because of this. He had so few friends, how could he afford to lose another? Especially over something that was so trivial. Any sorcerer could just look into his mind, rip apart his thoughts without a moment’s notice or care. At least Dandelion hadn’t entirely meant to do it. It hadn’t been meant to hurt him either.

It still made his insides twist and ache, and he didn’t know what to think about it. Just that didn’t want to lose the bard. This felt different from their other disagreements and it terrified him. “Don’t leave me,” he said in a small voice before he could stop himself. He would do whatever it took to make Dandelion feel like things were alright between them even if they weren’t.

“Oh, Geralt, I won’t, but it isn’t… oh this is terrible. I never realized. I never realized how you saw yourself. Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry. No, I won’t go. You can be as angry as you want for as long as you want, as hurt and confused, please don’t pretend it’s alright. I know once I break this I won’t be able to tell anymore, but please. Please let yourself feel. I don’t need you to mollycoddle me, I’m the one who did something wrong Geralt. Me, I am the one in the wrong, as I’ve said. I don’t know why you can’t believe that. You’ve been mad at me before. And you were right to be. Why can’t you see this the same way? I don’t understand. I’m so sorry,” tears filled his eyes. “I’ve never felt this bad in my entire life. I’m sorry. But this isn’t about me. I need you… I don’t need you to do anything, I suppose.” He hadn’t realized how much of Geralt’s world revolved around suppressing himself.

“You said you did it to help.”

“No, I did it because I’m an asshole and a blockhead. I did it because I didn’t take you at your word. And I also didn’t think anything would happen or I don’t think I would have done it. Or at least I hope I wouldn’t have done it. Please come with me so we can fix this. It’s not your job to do it, but please, so I can make it stop sooner rather than later. I have no right to this much of you. I’m sorry. I can’t stop saying it, Geralt, so if that’s what’s going to make you angry then have at it. Yell at me. Explode. Scream. Whatever you need to do.”

The witcher twisted in on himself further. Did Dandelion truly expect Geralt to do any of those things? He never had, not really. Sometimes he shouted a bit, but he had never lashed out like that, not the way he felt the bard was expecting. A monster. Nothing he did changed the fact he was a monster and would always be seen that way.

“You are _not_ a monster!” Dandelion shrieked, his voice shrill and strained. “You are _not_!” He wrapped his arms around Geralt tightly, squeezing the other man against him. “I don’t know how to stop putting my foot wrong. I had no idea I did it so often. Let’s start with the basics, and don’t you dare twist them. One, I love you. I love you deeply. Two, you are not a monster. You’re a man who is more, but that doesn’t make you bad. Three, even if you were a monster, I would still love you. Four, I never expected you to hurt me. I just felt that you might react somehow to what I did because it was awful. Five, I am sorry. I am sorry that you hurt like this all the time and I have brushed it off in the past because I don’t see you that way. I forget that the world is often cruel in ways I can’t anticipate.

“Please let me help. Please, please, don’t let this end here, if you choose to stay with me. Don’t let me not help you when I can. You shouldn’t be eating moldy food and lumps of gristle. Not if I can just get it for you and it will be fine. I won’t try and tell you it’s not as bad as you think, not ever again. And that man in your dreams who beat you? Keep me away from him if he’s still alive because I will give him a piece of my mind. The next time you have a nightmare, wake me, promise me you’ll wake me, let me comfort you. That’s what lovers do. _Lovers_ , Geralt, as in ‘love.’ Not friends. Not whores, _lovers._ Let me love you. And the next time I do something awful that hurts you, be angry. Feel it. Don’t be afraid of me hating you for hurting. I don’t _care_ who Vesemir is!” his voice soared in pitch again and Geralt winced. “I am me, and I think everything he’s said that I can pick out of your head is wrong and stupid and evil. You _do_ deserve comfort when you hurt. Yes! Even if it’s emotional not physical!”

None of this made any sense and Geralt felt lost and like nothing he was doing was right. All the same he curled into Dandelion’s chest willingly, grateful to be comforted. Everything he did just upset the bard worse and made him feel worse in turn. He couldn’t help his thoughts. It wasn’t as if he was trying to upset his lover. _Lover._ Yes, that’s what they were. What Geralt wanted them to remain, in spite of all of this. Dandelion was far more upset than he was, he thought. It felt wrong, knowing he had no secrets and no privacy and couldn’t even work out what to feel without Dandelion there, knowing it all. It wasn’t right. It _wasn’t._

Angry, finally, he was surprised the poet didn’t say a word, just held him. It was what he wanted, if he was being honest with himself, in spite of the anger. In spite of the hurt, no one else was there who could hold him. And it was so very rare anyone wanted to. The idea someone could know he was angry and still dare touch him, still want to touch him is a soothing balm over his heart. Hurt, he was hurt. He felt betrayed. Yes. He felt those things. He felt like it would be harder to trust Dandelion. Another person who had pushed into him in ways he hadn’t wanted or asked for. Someone he had hoped never would do something like that. But no, he didn’t want to lose Dandelion, either. He had been alone too long, and too many people feared him.

He let the anger course over and through him, burning itself out like a brush fire, hot and short. It left Geralt feeling empty and alone. Next the sadness pushed its way in. That was easier to ignore. He was used to feeling hurt by people. He ignored Dandelion crying into his hair. It sparked a bit of rage all over again, but beyond that he felt like he could ignore it. This wasn’t his fault, he should be the one upset, not Dandelion.

Geralt lost all track of time, sitting there under the tree, sitting against Dandelion’s chest.

At some point, to his horror, tears welled up in his eyes and he thinks he cried. Nothing like what Dandelion had done, no great gulps of air coupled with heaving sobs, but he knows the tears ran over his cheeks. Dandelion had stayed quiet the entire time, allowing him to grieve and process in his own way. 

When Geralt finally pulled away, Dandelion wordlessly wiped tears off his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “I forgive you,” Geralt informed him slowly. “You do stupid impulsive things, but you’re only human. And a poet and a bard at that. The worst kind of human,” he did his best to force a smile. “Let’s go to this shop of yours and break the spell. I don’t like the idea of it going on any longer than it has to.”

“It’s stopped.” Dandelion looked as shocked as Geralt felt. “It’s done. I suppose the time just ran out on it.” He kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Promise you’ll wake me. I can’t read your thoughts, so you can lie again, but…. I learned you rarely do. Promise me and I’ll believe you. I’ll take you at your word. I’m so sorry I hurt you so badly.”

“I promise,” Geralt said hoarsely. “It truly stopped?”

“Truly. Truly, we can go to the shop still and check. If that makes you more comfortable. Or you can cast it yourself, or we can find someone to perform a truth spell.”

“No, I believe you,” Geralt said slowly, with a pointed look.

Dandelion hung his head in response. He deserved that.

Geralt looked up at the sky and was shocked to see the sun had moved across the sky and was past high noon. How long had they sat there after eating? The sun had barely risen properly when things had started. He still felt oddly bereft, knowing Dandelion had done that to him and waited so long to say anything. He supposed the bard could have lied about how it happened or hidden it longer without ever saying a word. It would hurt for ages, he knew. He wished it wouldn’t. Logically, no harm had been done, but he felt like he’d been covered in filth that he couldn’t scrub off.

“I will make this up to you, somehow. I don’t know how, I don’t know if I can, but I won’t ever stop trying. Tell me what you need, when you know. Whenever you know, whenever it changes. I will do my best to listen and do whatever it is you ask of me.”

“Then stop bringing it up.” So what if he felt violated? Dwelling on it wouldn’t change that. He would move past it, like he always did.

At least this time the person who hurt him was sorry.

That had be to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some part of me had a really really hard time limiting this.   
> And so for anyone wondering, please rest assured that Geralt does let himself deal with it, and while he doesn't ever maybe do what he should or feel what he should, given the things he's already been through, just know that he does mostly heal from this. 
> 
> Also if I were to keep going, know that Dandelion changes a lot of his behavior and flippant words. He's much more sensitive to Geralt's needs after this. Maybe one day, like the "Potions" story I'll come back to this and fill in some things. Tbh I'm like, ready to run screaming back to the potions one because at least he was getting some care and love there. 
> 
> Onwards to Betrayal.


	4. Day 4: Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Betrayal  
> SHIP (if applicable): Geraskefer  
> PROMPT DAY: 4  
> MEDIUM: Books  
> WARNINGS: Mentions of past noncon between Geralt & Triss.  
> SUMMARY: “Triss had watched them both and was jealous […] And it had fascinated her. It had fascinated her to such an extent that…she had seduced the witcher -with the help of a little magic… she had found what she was looking for -emotions in the form of guilt, anxiety and pain. His pain. She had experienced his emotions, it had excited her and, when they parted, she had been unable to forget it.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Blood of Elves
> 
> At a social event, where Geralt is with his lovers, Triss is also a guest. Yennefer makes Dandelion promise to help her keep Triss away from Geralt. He won’t until he knows why. Geralt overhears them.  
> WORD COUNT: 2786  
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: If you read the books, just be warned that Triss never stops until the second “novel” when Yennefer chases her off. 

-

Geralt had not wanted to go to the party. And yet, here they were. Yennefer had dressed him nicely, in a midnight blue with gold trim that accented his eyes. Or so Ciri told him. Dandelion agreed. Geralt didn’t see the point. He was ugly, that was the end of it. At least he knew he was a more than adequate lover, both Yennefer and Dandelion had been consistent in reassuring him of that. He found it easier to believe than the fact they found him attractive. He could feel them quiver under him in bed, or above him, but he couldn’t feel them look at him and know they found him pleasing.

Ciri had pointed out he was human looking, which wasn’t exactly helpful. He knew he had two front facing eyes, a nose, mouth, and ears all on a human head in about the right places. It was just that they were sharp and ugly. So needless to say he felt absolutely ridiculous dressed up in silks and embroidery with a midnight blue ribbon holding his hair back from his face. Yennefer hated the headband but he couldn’t stand not being able to see. This was the compromise. It was stupid, he looked stupid. All of it was stupid.

Things got oddly worse when he saw Triss at the party, and got that twisting feeling low in his gut he always got when he saw her. He still had no idea why he slept with her. He hadn’t wanted to. She was beautiful to be sure, but she wasn’t Yennefer. It wasn’t as if he didn’t remember fighting with Yennefer before sleeping with Triss. Her finding him, he had been hurting alone and miserable.

All he knew about it was that he had thought Triss was a friend, and she was. But she desired to bed him again and he desired nothing of the kind. If anything, he desired to know what had possessed him to do that. All it had done was bring him misery and guilt.

Ciri was in an elegant green gown that would have brought out her eyes had she not been glamored. Her eyes were grey now, and her hair swept into an elegant strawberry blonde mess of curls and pins. While people might recognize bits of magic on her, many sorceresses used a bit of magic to enhance their looks when mingling with ‘normal’ folk. No one would look at her twice. It meant that Ciri was safe out of hiding for a short time, and able to enjoy herself a bit. Or so Geralt hoped. She had wanted to dance and eat fine food again. He couldn’t fault her.

Yennefer was in her usual black and white, but as a nod to his outfit, she had tiny bits of navy embroidery along the edges of her cuffs. He appreciated that she matched them. Claimed him. Wanted him.

Dandelion wore blue and gold as well, but his color scheme was the opposite of Geralt’s, gold with blue accents. The blue brought out the troubadour’s eyes and Geralt was torn between desperately wanting to strip him of the finery and just stare at what it did for his coloring. Yennefer had teased him for sighing once he saw the bard dressed, with his hair neatly combed.

She knew he was usually sighing over her and wanting to kiss her. If was nothing new to them after two decades of a turbulent on again off again relationship. Geralt admitting to himself he felt the same way for his best friend had been something new, and something he was still adjusting to. Yennefer had initially been a little hesitant. However, after a night where they had all been somewhat drunk and things had progressed forward and Geralt had climaxed so hard he saw stars she had decided the bard could stay. His clever tongue and fingers were well able to please them both.

They swept off into the crowds and he hung back, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation with anyone. His hair was neatly brushed, Ciri had braided the top half and tied it herself. He was told he looked quite fetching. A lie, but a kind one. He knew he looked as good as he could look, the colors he wore had been picked to bring out any last hints of warmth in his skin, and to give his eyes a gold appearance over yellow. It was just that he couldn’t imagine any of it would work.

He ducked behind a plant, perhaps some kind of Ficus? And hid from Triss as she went past, careful to think of nothing but the pleasantries of the party, nothing that would make him stand out if she was searching for his mind in particular. He wasn’t ready to do their usual song and dance where she made advances and he tried to stop her. She always smelled of lust when she saw him and he didn’t want her to. Yennefer would just get upset, Dandelion wouldn’t know, and nothing Geralt could do would make the situation better.

His evening got worse when he saw his lovers talking quietly in a corner. Ciri had stayed within view as promised, but wasn’t with them. Concerned, he stepped in to listen and had to step aside again to avoid a servant with a tray of food. Focusing his hearing, he didn’t tend to eavesdrop but he had every intention of walking into the conversation in a moment once he could get around the meandering guests and servants.

“Keep Triss away from him, Dandelion. If you must escort him away, or intercept her yourself. I hadn’t known she’d be here or I would have told Ciri we couldn’t come.”

“Why, Yennefer? Are you worried she’ll steal him away again? You were both broken up and on bad terms. He came back to you. And besides, the three of us are doing just fine, why would he stray?”

“Geralt isn’t the type to stray, he’s a considerate lover and extremely faithful.”

“What then?”

“She didn’t give him a choice, Dandelion.”

“What!?” the bard was aghast. “He … he sent for her to help with Ciri. They’re friends.”

“No, she stays within his reach in hopes she can snare him again. She used magic when his defenses were down because he was in pain.”

“That… does he know? He still trusts her, Yennefer.”

“I don’t think he does. He’s never indicated he does. He can’t understand why he ever gave in to the urge to bed her. He doesn’t realize he never wanted to, there was no urge.”

“You knew and didn’t tell him?! She could ensnare him again!”

“Unlikely, he’s not in the place he was when she was able to do that. And I couldn’t be sure, not at first. It’s taken some time, I haven’t gotten her to admit to it, either. But when he thinks about her the way his memories feel, I think he knows on some level, Dandelion. She makes him sick inside.”

“I thought they were friends.”

“And he thinks that too, until she starts to push herself on him.”

“Oh, Yennefer. We have to tell him,” the poet moaned.

Geralt stood frozen in place, unable to process what he’d just heard for several moments. He didn’t bother to keep listening. He didn’t want to hear any more. When Triss made another pass, stopping to speak to Ciri he did his best to force his thought patterns into something innocuous, like getting a new serving tray or fixing a cuff before being out where the lord might see his clothes out of place.

When she leaves Ciri’s side he can see that the glamor had worked. Triss hadn’t seemed to know her but had been trying to place her as one of Aretuza’s newer graduates. He had done his best to eavesdrop while keeping his mind busy. Quickly, he strode across the floor, weaving himself in and out of revelers to get to her. She had been part of a dance but had stepped aside a moment. “I’m going outside, or back to the rooms,” he told her brusquely, barely able to keep his head and unable to go anywhere near his lovers.

“What, why?”

“Ask Triss.”

Ciri watched him leave, face even paler than usual. He had looked badly rattled. She went to find Yennefer and Dandelion, but they weren’t together. She found Yennefer first, and waited to get her attention. They couldn’t be seen together too often or people might suspect something. “Geralt left,” she whispered as soon as they were able to talk.

“What?”

“He told me he had to go, he looked awful.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said to ask Triss. So I’m asking you. What did he mean?”

“Ciri, don’t ask that.”

“You promised me when I was a little girl, when you undertook my training you would answer any question I asked you.”

“I did,” Yennefer said calmly. “And you were a viper inclined to abuse it any chance you got. For Geralt’s sake, Ciri, let this go.”

“I know she wants to bed him. I remember that, from the keep, from us leaving even when she was ill. Her obsession with him. Yours is the name on his lips, Yennefer, not hers. So what happened?”

“This is the last time I’ll ask you Ciri, I won’t beg. This isn’t about us, Do you truly want to know?”

“Did she hurt him?”

“Yes,” Yennefer’s nostrils flared as she breathed hard. “Yes, she hurt him.”

“How?” the girl demanded flatly.

“Ciri.”

“How?” she stamped her slippered foot.

“Do you remember how we talked about Jory, and teasing and toying with boys?”

“What has that got do with it, Geralt isn’t a boy.”

“Do you remember that I told you not to do it, it was unkind and beneath you?”

“Yes. I remember. Yennefer. Tell me what she did.”

“She used magic to tease him into her bed.”

“Say what you mean plainly.”

“She raped him,” Yennefer said softly, the words bitter on her tongue. She’d never said it that way, never forced herself to lay bald the truth like that.

The girl glanced around and saw Dandelion. “Does he know?”

“He just found out.”

“How long have you known?”

“Less time than I should have, and more than I have wanted.”

Ciri strode towards Dandelion before veering sharply to the left of him where Triss was chatting with a handsome middle-aged man. Lesser nobility to judge by his clothes. The minute she was within arms-length of Triss she slapped her.

Dandelion squawked somewhere behind her and Ciri ignored him and slapped Triss again. “How dare you?” she hissed savagely. “How dare you come anywhere near him ever again after what you did!?” The third slap the sorceress reached up to block, but Ciri was as quick as a snake and struck Triss with her other hand. “You leave him be, you never come near him, you leave him in peace, you-” and then Dandelion was upon her.

“My niece, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, she’s a bit touched, kicked by a horse as a little girl. She’ll be fine at times and then she’ll have an episode. I’ll take her, we’ll go. We’re going, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry everyone, please ignore us.”

Ciri was barely able to stop herself from hissing and screaming and attacking Dandelion.

“Stop it, it’ll do no good and if you get caught what will Geralt think? Stop it at once,” Dandelion told her and she did. “Now we both have to leave. I’ll tell Geralt, where …?”

“He left. He found out about her, and he left.”

“And how did you find out?”

“He told me he was leaving and I asked Yennefer. She told me.”

“I can’t say as I blame you. I had half a mind to try something myself. Something less public,” Dandelion sighed. “Well we might as well find him. I suspect he’ll be in a bad way.” He didn’t set Ciri down until they were out of the room.

Together, they hurried down the hallway, Ciri cursing the dancing slippers she wore instead of her boots. It wasn’t too hard to get back to the rooms Yennefer had rented them. It was unsurprising to see Geralt on the floor by the fireplace, leaned against the side of it, staring into the flames. He was close enough Dandelion felt some odd worry a spark might catch his clothes on fire.

“Geralt,” Dandelion’s voice came out with a quaver he hadn’t intended it to have. “Geralt I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” He crouched down by the witcher and realized abruptly that Geralt was drunk. When had he even had time to drink that much? “Geralt?”

“Go away,” he enunciated clearly.

“I shan’t,” Dandelion shrugged. “Not until you feel better.”

“I’m going to change, and then I’m coming back too, this damn dress won’t let me sit down properly.”

Geralt looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “Forgot how to be a princess?”

“Don’t start,” Dandelion told him quietly. “Don’t start on her.” The bard moved in close enough to see that Geralt had emptied out a few small bottles from his packs. White gull, it looked like. Perhaps Black, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had either. But it would certainly be enough to knock Geralt on his ass. Not to mention the emptied wineskin. “We didn’t take that long to get to you, did we?” he asked, wondering how many moments had passed that Geralt had had enough time to do this. Of course if his intent had been to chug down as much as possible in as short a time as possible, he could have done it.

Hesitantly, he curled an arm around Geralt’s shoulders, pulling him slightly away from the fire. “Would you like help getting out of the doublet?”

“Please,” Geralt whispered back. Clever fingers began undressing him, and Geralt allowed himself not to think. The door opened again and he opened one eye, expecting to see Ciri. Yennefer stood there instead, looking slightly disheveled. “Fuck off,” he croaked. Not that this was her fault. She hadn’t done it, only guessed at it. Or found out later. “’m going to be sick,” he mumbled.

Dandelion moved with great alacrity, quickly dragging over the chamber pot and grabbing up a handful of Geralt’s hair just in time for the inebriated witcher to heave and retch. Yennefer wrinkled her nose in disgust. Of course she couldn’t blame him. She had felt like doing much the same when she’d found out what kind of person her old friend was.

Between the two of them they got him completely stripped down to his underthings and tucked into bed. He was resentful of the cups of water they pushed on him, but less unhappy about the two of them cuddling up to him in the bed, holding him close. The strain and shock had left him numb, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, but sleeping it off seemed ideal, and so he let himself fade away.

Dandelion curled up at his back, holding him gently as Yennefer snuggled in against his chest. They both looked up when the door creaked open and Ciri padded in on bare feet to slip into the bed behind Yennefer. Ciri was still angry with her, but her concern for Geralt was far greater than her anger at Yennefer.

When Geralt woke up, Ciri was against his chest, Dandelion’s back was to his, and Yennefer was heating a small kettle over the fire. His head ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his lapse in judgement the night before or the pain he was feeling from what he’d learned.

It didn’t take him too much effort to sit up without disturbing his child or his lover, and he gratefully took the mug of tea from Yennefer when she handed it to him. Geralt frowned slightly when he noticed Yennefer had a few scratches on her neck and a light bruise high up on her cheek.

“Ciri started it, I finished it,” she whispered to him in the pre-dawn light.

He could guess at what she meant and sipped his tea rather than respond. The warmth of the drink made him feel warm and relaxed, and he finished the mug before easing himself back down into the bedding. He was still so tired. There was too much to process, and he didn’t want to try.

But if that changed, there were people in his life now who loved him enough to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. 3 more to go. 30 pages in 2 days. 4 prompts in 2 days.   
> Let's see if I can make it before the window closes, shall we? 
> 
> I am... tired. I'm not sure this came out how I wanted. I might redo it. I might also deal with it in another fic where I sort of had plans to talk about it. I think working this hard on writing and trying to come up with ideas is exponentially decreasing my writing skills, but I'm not sure. I'll let you guys be the judge of the quality of each work.   
> As always, I look forward to your commentary.


	5. Day 5: Loneliness

TITLE: Loneliness **  
SHIP (if applicable): N/a  
PROMPT DAY: 5  
MEDIUM: Books  
WARNINGS: N/a**. **  
SUMMARY: _“_** _And the skeletons which are meant to serve as an eternal reminder will ultimately rot away completely, disintegrate into the dust and be forgotten, will disappear with the wind which constantly whips the mountainside…”_

“They don’t want to lie like that,” said Ciri suddenly. “They don’t want to be a symbol, a bad conscience, or a warning. But neither do they want their dust to be swept away by the wind.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Blood of Elves_

-

“Do you know, Visenna, what is done to witchers’ eyes to improve them? Do you know it doesn’t always work?”

“Stop it,” she said softly. “Stop it, Geralt.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Sword of Destiny_

 **  
WORD COUNT: 532  
AUTHOR’S NOTES: **Maybe I should have used the quote from the books where he has a panic attack over not wanting Ciri to be alone like he w **as.** Or Yennefer thanking Dandelion for staying with him because then he wasn't alone. But this snippet came out way differently than I had intended. I had expected him to think more about the changes, the things that hurt him or worried him, and instead we got this little drabble. 

Geralt swung his legs slowly as he rested on a particularly large piece of rubble. Rather than spend the winters abroad he had come ‘home’ to Kaer Morhen. It had been years since he had returned last, he didn’t always winter there. Only Vesemir did, living among the ghosts that haunted the ruins.

For Geralt it was a special kind of agony, as a boy he had lost so many of his friends, watching them die horribly. He liked to avoid this place when he could. But it was the only home he could remember having, and the only place he was safe from the general hatred of the public. And so, he came back.

Claiming the Law of Surprise had come with unexpected consequences he knew. Would he bring the child back here? To be raised as a witcher? They could no longer enact the changes or the trials. They could train the child. Perhaps… perhaps Destiny would be kind and the child would not need them to be a witcher. Or so went the rumor.

Looking at the skeletons slowly rotting away in front of him, when the skeletons had been bodies, he had known almost all of them. Not all the children. Some of them had been new, and he never learned their names. Just their faces. How many had already survived the trials? How many would have died? Would he have made friends with any of them, trained any?

Sick to his stomach, he couldn’t look away. Perhaps it would be nice to have a Child of Surprise. It would be less lonely in the keep, he could stay and train them year round. It would mean more time with Vesemir, but the old witcher had gotten softer in his old age. Maybe the child wouldn’t hate him. He had the sense he had hated Vesemir, but he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember his mother, or his father and he knew he had been old enough he should have. Well, he was older now, so many things are lost to time. Witchers didn’t steal memories like the dryads did. He rubbed at his temples, nothing he did now would change anything.

Would the boy bring any kind of laughter to the keep? Could he? There hadn’t been much. If anyone had been caught having too much fun it had ended quickly and with the aid of a leather strap. Geralt still bore the scars across his rump and back. Should he take the boy back here? Or could they perhaps just travel the roads together, like an apprentice and master?

Would it change his life? Would the burden of living so long be less horrible knowing that he had someone?

And if the boy hated him?

What then?

He rubbed at his face and stood up to go back into the keep, a shudder rippling through him as he passed the skeletons.

So much lost and destroyed. So many lives wasted for nothing. Could he bring the boy here? Could he justify turning the boy into a witcher, even without the option of the trials?

If it meant not being alone, could he do it?

He just didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been loving your guy's reactions to things. Or just feeling sad with you. 
> 
> If you guys are huge into Geralt whump, I have... I think 2 other fics that mostly qualify in that dept but are interspersed with far more plot and bits of fluff, and if you check them out I'd love to know your thoughts.  
> The Harvest Festival fic is... nice and short. 5 chapters. And it's ot3 times again.   
> The Road Not Taken is kind of my redo of the fall of Aretuza, and it's going to be 3 parts. I need to edit the last chapter of it and post it, but then part 1 is done and part 2 ... I have... 13 chapters written already awaiting beta. This one is kind of a series of Geralt just getting pounded but also being picked up by his people. Ciri features heavily, as do other witchers a little, and then it's again, ot3 but they aren't always together, so you can enjoy him with just Dandelion and more rarely, just Yen. (yes I did just plug my own work. What of it?)


	6. Day 6: Monster

# Title: Monster

**SHIP (if applicable): Geraskefer  
PROMPT DAY: 6  
MEDIUM: Books  
WARNINGS: **Self-loathing, more accidental self-harm than deliberate, canon typical suicidal ideation **  
SUMMARY:**

“What a hideous smile I have, Geralt thought, reaching for his sword. What a hideous face I have. And how hideously I squint. So is that what I look like? Damn.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Sword of Destiny_

_-_

“Do you know, Visenna, what is done to witchers’ eyes to improve them? Do you know it doesn’t always work?”

“Stop it,” she said softly. “Stop it, Geralt.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Sword of Destiny_

  
WORD COUNT: 11891  
AUTHOR’S NOTES: n/a

Geralt hated sorcerers. They were never good company, with the exception of Yennefer who still had her moments, and they were usually unnaturally cruel whenever given the chance. He had, of course managed to run afoul of this one, he always did. If there was a sorcerer involved, he was going to suffer. That was simply the life of a witcher, or any other poor soul who happened to cross paths with them.

“Geralt of Rivia, Geralt of Nowhere. Geralt of Kaer Morhen, Geralt of No Parentage. Geralt the Witcher, Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt the Monster.”

Yes, that was all true, as far as Geralt was concerned. Nothing new, no worse than anything anyone else had said to him.

“I curse you.”

Fuck.

“I curse you so that you will look on the outside as you are on the inside. You will be the hideous monster you truly are. The monster you know yourself to be.”

Pain racked him so hard he thought he might die. His bones shifted like they had during the changes, his face stretching, cheekbones raising and flattening, jaw jutting forward and expanding as his mouth filled with sharp teeth, his lips pulling back and tearing as they failed to keep up with the changes to his skin. He screamed with the pain of it, and horror swamped him when an alien sound came from his mouth.

“Kill me, and it’s permanent,” the mage informed him.

The changes continued, his hands stretching into claws as his nails thickened and turned black like a wolf’s, his silvery hair spreading across more of his body. Geralt’s eyes turned true yellow, and he cried out again, the hoarse howl of a monster as his legs lengthened and thickened, making him taller even as his spine curled forcing him to hunch forward.

“However, true love, the purest kind can break the spell. Someone will have to love you as you are, seeing you as you truly are, for the spell to break.”

As his nose changed, growing sharper and hooking slightly he felt more shifts in his bones and tears in his skin where it failed to keep up and he moaned low in his throat. His voice had been unpleasant before, but now? Now it was the guttural sounds of a monster utterly incapable of speech. He tried. He tried to curse the mage before him, tears and snot running down his mutated face. When he tried to run his forearm across his face, he noticed the sinew and muscle standing out and the once fine dusting of milk white hair was now thick like pelt over his arm. He screamed again, hardly able to think. Geralt tore at it, the thick claws digging into flesh as he tried to pull some of the hair free.

He accidentally raked his own face in horror at the damage his claws had done, lifting them to try and cover his eyes and feeling them pierce the skin around the sockets and howled again.

“I suppose you should get used to your new form, enjoy it, Geralt. After all, who could learn to love a beast?” The sorcerer opened a portal and stepped through it, smiling. Geralt lunged but was too late.

His figure was mostly human, he felt but he couldn’t be too sure. His neck had changed and he had more trouble looking down at himself than he had before. Stay calm, focus, breathe, control your heart rate, control yourself. He looked down and saw his clothes mostly hanging in tatters. Something moved behind him and he twisted in panic raising his hands to defend himself with a cry of surprise. But nothing was there. But he could see something from the corner of his vision, and he twisted painfully to look down at himself and saw that he now had a tail.

The shock of it dropped him to his knees, cracking them painfully on the stone floor of the mage’s tower. He gripped it and thought about simply cutting it off. All that stopped him was that when Yennefer reversed the spell, it might hurt him in some other way. All of this had come from his body and to remove some of it might mean he would be less whole when returned to his natural state.

He tried to speak again and again but all that came out of his throat were horrible hoarse sounds. Wasn’t Dandelion always telling him all he did was grunt and grizzle? Now that was true. Perhaps a letter. He could send her a letter.

When he tried to pick up a writing implement from the desk his hands… claws, his hands were very nearly paws, and blackness edged around his vision again. He couldn’t hold the quill. Could barely pick it up, it was too fine, too delicate. Then he realized, who would mail the letter for him? How would he pay? A horrible chuffing sound came out of him and he realized that was his laugh. He screamed again, unable to help it.

It was daylight. He was effectively trapped in the tower until nightfall. If people saw him they would hunt him down and kill him and he couldn’t even speak to them to explain. Couldn’t write them a message… or perhaps… perhaps he could.

It didn’t occur to him to use the inkwell, which would have been smarter. Instead, he dug his claws into his flesh tipping them in his own blood as he carefully wrote a message to Yennefer on the parchment. He had no idea if she’d ever find it. It said very little, and he had no way to mail it… no coins… but perhaps somehow it would make its way to her.

_Yennefer- Mage. Curse. Help. -Geralt._

When he wiped at his eyes again, the fur on his forearm was streaked with blood. Bloodied tears? His heart squeezed. Was no part of him left human? He had to get out of there. He paced around the tower room and stopped when he saw a mirror. It was slightly warped, the silver bent and twisted, not good quality. But it was enough to make him sink to his knees in horror.

His clothing had torn around him, in some places digging into his skin and cutting him. He pulled it off where string and thread still tore into his flesh and looked at himself. While he had never been especially hairy, fur had mostly replaced natural body hair and he uncomfortably touched his cheeks. He never even wore a beard, and now he had an odd coating of fur that started an inch or so away from his eyes and ran halfway down his neck. It picked up again at his sternum in a large circular shape before continuing over his abdomen and down to his groin.

_“I envy you this, you know. It looks so low maintenance. I’ve never seen you trim or shave any of it,” Dandelion told him softly, stroking along his sides and hips. “Does it truly just grow this way? Nice and neat?”_

_“I don’t know if it’s neat,” Geralt protested lightly. “But it’s true, I don’t alter it.” Who did?_

_The poet gently stroked up the insides of his legs and over his hips, circling his groin with gentle touches. Geralt would have given anything for those delicate fingers to never stop. Being comfortable and safe like this was far better than sex. “I do, I spend quite a bit of time on it, maintaining it.”_

_“Why?” Geralt asked, he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other about Dandelion’s body hair._

_“Oh Geralt,” the bard teased, eyes twinkling. “As much hair grows here, if I didn’t keep it trimmed,” his fingers gently ran through the hair above Geralt’s cock, “people would think me much smaller than I am. Too much hair and you hide too much and even if there’s plenty no one will believe it.”_

_Geralt snorted in shock and laughed. Dandelion grinned at him, pleased to have made him smile. The bard gently leaned over to press a kiss to Geralt’s hip, and the witcher knew he was being given a choice. They could just continue to lie like this, or they could make love. He found both options tempting, but he didn’t feel like the amount of movement the latter would require. He gently cupped Dandelion’s cheek, guiding him up to kiss him on the mouth._

_“Just sit with me,” Geralt asked, voice husky._

_“Of course, love,” Dandelion agreed easily, continuing to let his fingers trail over and explore his lover. Every so often Geralt twitched a little, and the bard knew he’d found a new place to touch and tease during their lovemaking, but for now just being together was enough._

Thankfully his genitals were barely visible under the hanging fur, since pants weren’t going to be an option for him. Ashamed in ways he hadn’t thought possible, he tried to pick up his cloak from the chair and drape it around himself. All that happened was his claws caught and shredded the fabric. He laughed bitterly and startled when it came out as the chuffing bark noise from before. Tears ran over his cheeks again, the blood dyeing the fur on his face pink.

How was he going to wash himself? Or dress himself? Keep himself warm? His entire body wasn’t furred.

The mirror allowed him to see his jaw elongated and widened, new teeth full of sharp points that prevented him from closing his mouth entirely, which meant drool was starting to form at the corners of his lips. Hatred for himself sang in his heart. Even his ears had moved slightly, higher on his head and more pointed and leathery like a bat’s, perhaps. Barely recognizable as human other than the color.

His skin had turned even whiter, even less human, more like alabaster than the usual sallow paleness he was used to and his eyes…. Oh, they were so yellow and the slitted pupils- nothing he did would round them again like a normal man’s. The could widen and thin them but not enough. He would have thrown up if he could have.

Mostly his bone structure appeared to be the same, outside of his face, just longer and thicker. His hips pushed against his skin the way they did in lean months where he had little to eat, but he had a feeling this was permanent. Just as his ribs pulled the skin tight between them and his hips, leaving him with a small waist that exemplified several drawings of famine he’d seen.

Unable to bear the sight of himself he slammed a hand against the mirror without thinking and cried out when the silver _burned._ The glass shattered and bits of it stuck into his knuckles and flew at him, leaving red marks as if he’d been scalded. His claws were too brutish to pull the glass out and he found himself shredding skin attempting to pull the burning embers of silver from his body. Once they were out, he was left with mutilated knuckles and red welts all over himself where the mirror had exploded with the force of his strike.

Unsure of where to walk, his feet were mostly bare, his boots shredded and useless. He glanced at his medallion, he had torn it off along with his shirt. How would he wear it? How would people know it was him? He couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell them, couldn’t write… Moaning, he covered his face with his hands and wept, he had never felt so helpless in his life.

_“Yen this is humiliating.”_

_“Your leg was broken and so was your skull. Get up and walk around with me.”_

_“I’m wobbling like a fawn, Yen, I don’t want to.”_

_“And how will you get better if you refuse to use your muscles?”_

_“My head aches.”_

_“And I shall rub your neck after, and perhaps your shoulders too, if you stop trying to delay the inevitable and get up and walk with me.”_

_“Perhaps you could rub something else?”_

_She snorted. “Are you done whining?”_

_“I wasn’t whining,” he argued, getting out of the bed shakily. The linen pants moved across the bandages on his shin and he took her hand, allowing her to help him up. Then slid his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as they walked out of the room. She made him pace the length of the hall and back before allowing him to rest, and he was happy to hold her in his arms as he waited for his muscles to stop shaking._

_He loved the feel of her hair over his skin, and the coolness of her touch on his body. She gently ran fingers through his hair, pressing gently as she massaged away the worst of his headache. He loved when they were close together like this, when there was no expectation, no pressure. They could just be._

Walking carefully through the splinters of mirror he knew whenever he failed because the pain burned him. Welts and blisters rose up, but thankfully no more glass made its way into his flesh. Not sure what to do with his old clothes, or his medallion, he did his best to work around his claws and bundle the silver without touching it. His medallion. His mark, who he was. He had no pockets, no pack, nothing.

Pawing through the mage’s things, he did manage to find a satchel with a long strap which he tucked the medallion in, the leather barely tough enough to withstand his claws as he shoved it in. It took some doing but he also managed to get the strap over his shoulder without destroying it or the bag. He couldn’t leave yet, and his body still ached.

There was no food to take, nothing to do but wait. So he crouched down in a corner away from the debris, running a claw over the shaggy rough hair sprouting from his scalp. His sensitive fingers had been covered in thick callous that made it hard to feel, but he could still tell his hair was no longer the fine silky texture his partners had loved. Ciri had loved it, too. His hair was smoother than hers, no curl, and so she had loved brushing it out. She had often put it into braids. Now the rough strands would be not only unpleasant to touch but near impossible to groom. It was going to mat so easily, he knew.

_“Your hair is so soft,” Ciri marveled, running fingers through it as he sat with her by the fire. They had spread out a few blankets and pillows on the hearthstones to wait out the storm. While she wasn’t afraid of the weather, after the Wild Hunt had near taken her, she was a little jumpier about the noise. He didn’t fault her._

_He closed the book in his lap, leaving his index finger between the pages to mark their spot. He had chosen a bestiary at her request and was teaching her more of what she would know to be a witcher. Initially, he had wanted to read history or philosophy or something else, anything else. But it was what she had asked him for._

_She gently combed out his hair again, having used a little bit of unscented oil to make the strands gleam. Since she had decided to take an interest in grooming him like a beloved feist his hair always shone in the light. It was always neatly brushed. He looked healthier. Of course, taking her into his life he had had to start taking better care of himself simply because he was taking care of her. If she needed food, he found food rather than go hungry. If she felt filthy, he found a place for them to bathe. It was just what he did now._

_While he was well able to keep himself clean and his hair free of tangles without assistance, they both found the routine soothing. So many ugly things happened around them day in and day out that it was nice to end the day by the fire together, doing something peaceful. Not to mention both Yennefer and Dandelion had commented on the change in texture of his hair, enjoying the silkiness Ciri’s ministrations had brought out._

He fell asleep somehow, curled into the corner. The stones on his skin were cold enough to leech away some of his body heat and leave him to wake shivering and miserable. So much for the new layer of fur keeping him warm or being useful in any way.

The sky was dark, and most of the village around the tower asleep. Humiliated by his nakedness, he knew he didn’t have a choice about it, or about having to leave. If the mage sent someone back to clear him out, or alert the villagers, he would be killed in a small space unless he was willing to let his actions match his appearance. Perhaps he should just let them kill him.

But he had hope, small hope, that Yennefer would somehow find his message. Would somehow find him and save him. She loved him, didn’t she? So did Dandelion. One of them should work, or perhaps she could just reverse the spell without anything. In case her love wasn’t even… he loved them both so much. Surely, surely one of them could break it. Would it take a kiss? Just some blood? He tried to remember how Nivellen’s curse had been broken with the bruxa, but he didn’t want to have to kill one of his lovers. He wouldn’t. He would kill himself first if that was the only solution.

The doorknob was difficult to grip and slippery against his skin and he barely managed to get it open. Only the terror of acting like the beast he was kept him from smashing through it. He was bigger, and bulkier, and going through the doorway and down the twisting steps made him aware of how much he had changed. It was difficult to navigate where before he would have run quickly.

He paused at the bottom, smelling food. A bit old, perhaps, but not turned. He listened for a while, didn’t smell any signs of human life or hear anything, and the thought of food made his mouth water. Ropes of drool slid over his chin and hung down and he shut his eyes. Nothing he did would take away the feeling. Ashamed, he almost didn’t open the door to the kitchen. He should perhaps just starve to death. But, never seeing Ciri again, never seeing Yennefer or Dandelion… not if there was a chance he could be saved… even if he didn’t deserve it…

Tthe hunger pressed on him and he pushed through the door and raided the stores of food he found. The vegetables were hard to chew, since all of his teeth had apparently been replaced with fangs leaving him with very little molar. He ended up gulping down chunks of carrot and potato raw. The meat he found was dried, and even more difficult to manage. His claws allowed him to tear it easily enough and he swallowed strips whole. He ate until his stomach ached and bulged, knowing he had no way to carry any of it with him.

While he was sure he could hunt, and while he could process raw meat if forced, he had no taste for it. Perhaps his new monster’s body and tongue would. Ripping into raw flesh and still beating hearts… that had always been his destiny hadn’t it? Shunned by society living like an animal? Looking around for anything that might help him, anything that might keep him human, there was nothing.

At the door to the tower he listened, and when he heard no one moving around he ran.

**

“Madam Yennefer, a message for you.”

“Odd, a letter coming from my banker.”

“It’s an odd situation, if you don’t mind me saying,” the dwarf twisted his hands.

“Please, explain.” She took the missive in her hand, looking at the odd parchment. When she opened it, it bore five words written in blood. The implement used to write had scratched the fibers of the page, making it hard to read and the blood had trailed along the disrupted grooves. It was hardly legible, but she know how Geralt made his runes. Even if he was clearly badly injured and writing her in blood. Although the marks were like no quill she had ever seen. It was too thick, and far too coarse. Disturbed, she looked up at the dwarf.

“Well. There was a contract for your witcher, and he took it. Went up to meet a sorcerer who said they had information and would also pay for parts of the beast. I don’t know all the details, mind. But Geralt went in, and he never came out. One of my fellows heard that he hadn’t come to pay his inn bill, or the fee for keeping his horse stabled. I had someone go take care of it. The horse is on her way to your home in Vengerberg, where she and his bags will be safe. I also had the money owed settled.”

“And you’ll have it taken from my accounts?”

“I was simply waiting on approval.”

“That’s neatly done then. I’ll need to withdraw some coin, then. To take with me. If you hear anything of Geralt, have it passed along to me as quickly as possible. Here, I’ll leave a kestrel, send it with any news.”

“Done.”

“Giancardi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

**

He tried to keep track of the days, scratching a mark into the bark of a tree. But after the first week time became meaningless. He knew it might take a full month before Yennefer got his note, assuming she ever did. He had told her the contact might take him weeks. She wouldn’t think to check for ages yet. He was on his own for much longer.

He had dug up various roots he had found, keeping himself alive as best he could, and much to his disgust he had managed to fell a deer and the carcass had fed him for days. Geralt was doing his best to behave as a human might. He tried to keep himself clean. Bathing in the cold stream was even worse with the added fur to soak in and hold the icy water against his skin.

A bear had chased him out of the first cave he found, and then a pack of wolves another. Finally, he had given in and dug himself a sort of shelter, doing his best to create more space by breaking branches and aligning them to create a sort of roof and wall. With his hands thick and unwieldy he could barely manage. Using vines to tie anything was out of the question. The crude lean-to kept the worst of the wind and damp away but he would have given anything for a fire.

When hunters came through and found his shelter, they almost found him. He hadn’t remembered to hide his tracks and they chased him for days. He could endure more, suffer more, but some part of him hoped they would catch him. Kill him and make all of this end.

The longer he was alone in the wild, the more terrifying he became. He caught glimpses of himself in the streams and rivers and puddles… his appearance continued to change and his body never stopped aching.

**

“Ciri, pack your things. I’ve found a place to hide you and I’ll need you to stay there.”

“Yennefer, I’m hardly in need of that kind of care anymore. I’m capable in my own right.”

“Geralt would never forgive me.”

“If he was taken as part of a contract, I’m your best bet at luring out whoever it was. If they want a witcher, let’s give them a witcher.”

“I don’t intend to use you as bait.”

“Please, Mamma, please. Don’t make me wait here twiddling my thumbs when I’m just as good with a sword as he is. Let me help.”

“One promise or I will use magic to keep you here.”

“What is it?”

“You obey. Something both you and Geralt are terrible at. But this time, you do as I tell you. Or I will send you through a portal to somewhere only I can find you and take you back out.”

“I promise.”

**

When his knees had reversed to match those of the predators whose forest he shared, the agony was so bad he couldn’t move for days. He laid there in the dirt and leaves, bugs crawling over him and didn’t move, and wished for death.

He fought and killed the giant cat that wanted his territory, and the pelt that grew over his body kept him far warmer than his clothes ever had. This time, he had chosen a place far from humans and higher in the mountains where not many bothered to travel to. Hunting was scarce but he had found a cave that was his and had dragged plenty of dried leaves in it to act as a bed. There was a hollow in the back that collected rain that dripped from a crack in the roof and it kept him from having to leave for fresh water too often.

He had no idea how many days had passed. Time had no meaning for an animal. He woke, he hunted, sometimes he ate, and then he slept.

**

“There’s some sort of silvery-haired werewolf living in our woods, you know, Master Dandelion.”

“Oh pish, I know what werewolves look like. The things your villagers have been saying are lies. Some sort of primal man-ape creature living in the woods.”

“We chased him out,” a man interjected. “We caught sight of him and chased him out. Silver haired and yellow eyed, monstrous. Huge claws, sharp teeth, found his dwelling and razed it so he’d never return. Thought about calling ourselves a witcher but we handled it just fine on our own, we did.”

“Silver hair and yellow eyes?”

“Fangs as big as my arm, ‘e jus’ ran though,” another man called out, this one older and missing some teeth. “Big cowar’ly cretchur,” he explained.

Dandelion looked around the tavern. He had planned to meet Geralt a few days ride from here and they had intended to travel together back to Vengerberg to meet with Yennefer and Ciri. Only Geralt hadn’t been in the area that anyone knew of. Not recently. He had come a month or more ago, had met with the sorcerer and disappeared. All heads were nodding in agreement and he felt a moment of concern.

“What tower did you say the sorcerer lived in?”

“Look outside, Master Poet, and see for yourself.”

He finished his beer, gathered up his things, and did exactly that. Gathering up the reins of his horse, he unhitched Pegasus from the post and mounted up, kicking the fat grey gelding into a slow trot.

When he reached the tower he found the door slightly ajar. Fear mounting in his chest he fairly ran up the steps, and was horrified to find blood all over the floor of the tower, shattered glass all over, and … Geralt’s clothes, shredded to pieces. There was no sign of him. The bard looked over the tower, seeing torn paper, broken quills, a shredded cloak, and Geralt’s things. His sword belt had snapped, and he had left his swords. Or was eaten, Dandelion supposed, tears welling up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

Further inspection revealed silvery-white fur littering the room and the heaviest coating was reserved for a bloody corner. “Did it kill you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked the swords softly. As if there would be answers there. He lifted them up and gathered up whatever he could of Geralt’s clothes and boots. Some spells required the essence of a person.

He needed to contact Yennefer. And perhaps, with what he’d found, she could do something to track Geralt, or the monster that killed him.

He quickly used the parchment and half a quill to pen a letter, noticing the untouched inkwell. Then he folded it, sealed it after relighting a candle and ran down the steps again, Geralt’s swords crushed to his chest. Dandelion quickly found the messenger service in the town and paid the fee to have his letter sent to Yennefer.

**

Geralt barely knew himself anymore. He knew he was waiting for something. He knew the pouch on his body meant something, but his paws wouldn’t allow him to open it. He couldn’t get it off over his head, it was stuck in matted fur and dried blood. Eventually it snagged on something, choking him and he tore it free, not caring that the strap shredded. He gathered it up in his teeth, the sharp fangs snagging on the leather and brought it back to his cave and left it there among the leaves he used as a bed.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t get to it.

**

“Yennefer!”

“Dandelion!” They hugged briefly. Their affections for each other were largely glued together by Geralt. While they were fond of each other, he was what brought them together.

“I found his things, or what was left of them, I see you got my letter?”

“I got this from him, too, about a day or two before your letter found me.”

“Is… is that blood?”

“It is, his, I think. You’ve been staying in the area?”

“I got the locals to show me the direction they had chased the supposed monster in. I found signs of the habitation, I don’t know… if it’s the thing that killed Geralt, or something he was trying to kill, or what happened to him.”

“I stopped by the tower on the way here, all the blood was his. It called out to the blood on the paper. You’d best show me around the area the monster was in, if it killed him his blood will sing out wherever it was left.”

“And if it didn’t? How will we find him?”

“If he’s injured by it, or kept tracking it, it’ll lead us to wherever his blood was last spilled. We’ll find him. If we can.”

“Ciri?”

“With the horses, waiting. She promised to obey me in all things or I would portal her into a dungeon on a mountain where no one could get to her. At least not without a portal. I’ve promised her that she will help us track down the beast. Or mage. Geralt wrote ‘cursed.’ I don’t… I don’t know what to think. Was he cursed and killed by the monster? Was he cursed… in another way? Was all that fur in the tower his?” her voice shook.

“I don’t know,” the poet said grimly. “I don’t know. But if he’s alive we’ll find him. In whatever condition, and we’ll break the curse, and we’ll take him with us and we’ll put him to rights. It’s what he’d do for us, and what we’ve done for him before, and we’ll do it again. As often as it takes.”

“I miss him, Dandelion. I hadn’t expected to see him for another few weeks, our plan was to meet later, as you well know. But I miss him and it terrifies me there’s no sign of him. I’ll get Ciri, and you can show me the woods.”

**

The monster pawed loosely at the leather in his bed. The hard object inside had hurt him when he’d slept on it, digging into the flesh of his side. Arrows had broken off in his body after an attack he hardly remembered, and whatever it was in his bed had pressed into it, making it hurt worse. He pawed feebly at the wounds, knowing they were infected, but his clawed paws couldn’t pull out the arrowhead. He had scratched himself raw and bloody, creating a further mess in his side. His body didn’t bend to allow him to lick it clean or care for it, he moved half upright and half on all fours, but he hadn’t gone to hunt in a few days.

Food had passed by his cave, but he had stayed, trying to regain his strength and heal. Some part of him remembered cool hands touching him, easing the pains and hurts in his body. Something had cramped his gut and made him ill and he had fallen a long ways, and those hands had nursed him back to health. But it made no sense, his only clear memories of humans were violent and painful. If they saw him, they chased him screaming and firing arrows and waving swords.

They were right to attack him, his slavering jaws and cruel claws were to be hated and feared.

Continued attempts to discover the source of his discomfort in the leather pouch allowed him to open it, claws tearing and shredding, and a round metal object fell out, skittering across the cave floor to land near his water supply.

When he reached out to touch it, nudging it with his muzzle, he roared in pain, feeling his face burn and welts raise up on his sensitive nose. Whimpering and howling, he left it alone, afraid to touch it again and curled back on his uninjured side in the leaves.

**

“He bled heavily here, look. Someone shot arrows into him,” Ciri lifted up the fletched half of an arrow. “Broke off, or he broke it off and pulled it through. Don’t see the other half anywhere, though. He was alive when he left here.”

“The question is, was he chasing the beast that the townsfolk were, or is he the beast?”

“Yennefer, don’t say that. Witchers aren’t that strange.”

“Dandelion, he said he was cursed. His blood is all over. He’s still alive, as far as we know, but there’s been no sign of him. The footprints we found are far too large to belong to a normal man, with evidence of clawed feet. So if this is Geralt’s blood, where are his footprints?”

“Yennefer, look, by the shelter, there’s notches in the tree. Keeping track of time. If it was Geralt, he was here a little over a week. Hunting, or waiting for help.”

“Then we press on.”

**

The monster went out hunting, the pain in its side making it gasp and wheeze with each breath. But it had to eat. Food was survival. It got lucky and stumbled across an injured rabbit. The creature hardly lasted a second once the monster had it, ripping it open with stubby claws and sharp teeth. It wasn’t enough, but the rabbit would keep it alive a bit longer.

A little stronger from the meal, it snuffled around, bloody drool hanging off its jaw as it rooted around for tubers in the dirt, digging them out with its paws and eating them straight from the ground. Some part of it knew things weren’t right, but it assumed it was the festering open sores in its side, and not the meal.

After it had dug up what it could, it moved on, looking for something else to eat.

**

“Look, bones.” Ciri kicked over a bundle of them, chunks of fur still clinging in some places.

“He’s out here somewhere,” Yennefer says slowly, hands held out, the letter tucked into her belt. She had opted to wear men’s clothing and a cap over her hair to make travel easier. The woods were not easy to traverse in her usual gowns. “More of his blood here than anywhere we’ve been other than the tower.”

“Something with white hair rubbed up against a tree here, and it’s soaked in blood,” Dandelion calls softly. He looks around the woods, feeling lost. The sun is high in the sky, they weren’t sleeping much. They rested once it was too dark to make the horses go on, and pressed on the minute the sky turned grey with predawn light. He touched the scratched bark and noted the blood was old. There were signs of a creature living in the area, something large. The fur and blood was around shoulder height. “It’s large, whatever it is. Do we think he’s hunting it and got hurt, or do we think he is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yennefer rubbed at her temples. “He would have left us a trail sign, if he was able. I can’t help but think perhaps it is him. But I haven’t seen any time markers, or evidence of him hiding his tracks, but I never saw him doing that before either. But the ‘beast’ the villagers chased, when we looked around that area… it was sentient. Smart enough to brush away tracks, and build a shelter. There’s none of this here. I don’t know, Dandelion. I don’t know. I won’t know until we find one of them. Or if it’s both in one, him.”

“I found some evidence of marking, look, just like a bear does.”

“Good, Ciri, any blood?”

“Some, the blood doesn’t look healthy. Infection. Geralt’s injured.” There was plenty of it splattering the leaves around the tree marked with deep gouges. She found bits of broken claw just like she might have a cat would leave on a rug. Lifting up a chipped piece, the marks had to have been caused by a claw longer than her fingers.

The monster pricked up its ears when it heard voices. It hadn’t heard humans in ages. It swiveled its ears and prepared to run. The injury in its side was exhausting it, and it gathered itself slowly. It would wait until they were too close to avoid, but it hoped they would go and it could stay. It would hate to give up its warm cave and safe watering hole.

It didn’t understand the speech, or the words they were calling out. It just knew the cry was sad, and lonely, and it lay there in the detritus, knowing somewhere in its monster’s heart, the cry hurt.

“Geralt! Geralt are you out there? Geralt! We’ve come to find you, please call out if you can hear me us!” Dandelion shouted at the top of his voice. He was able to be far louder than either Ciri or Yennefer.

Ciri continued to look for tracks, and finally realized she was seeing them. Five deep even punctures, long claws that couldn’t be retracted. It would be painful to walk on anything but loose dirt, where the claws would provide traction. She followed them to a cave and to her shock saw something glinting in the back.

Drawing her sword, she cautiously swept forward. “I see something!” she called back behind her, hoping that she was about to find one of Geralt’s daggers, or something that would indicate he was alive and well.

The leaves littering the cave floor were covered in white hair and blood and reeked of infection. The creature was sick. Badly injured. Or… Geralt was badly injured. She carefully sifted through the leaves and came across a torn leather pouch. It wasn’t Geralt’s, but it meant a human had been here. The pouch was shredded and the strap broken. In the mess of the pouch she found scraps of black cloth. “Geralt.” She sheathed her sword and stepped closer to the small pool of water and almost fainted in a mix of relief and horror when she saw his medallion lying there on the ground. “Yennefer! Dandelion!” Her voice was not as loud as the bard’s, but she could still scream.

The monster’s ears twitched. The humans had invaded its home. A low growl rumbled through it and it snuffled miserably. It was in no shape to fight them out. Its home was lost, again. But it was sick of being forced out of its home by other animals, and it had found a good spot and it didn’t want to leave. Aching and pained, it heard the continued howling and babbling of the humans and dragged itself up, prowling around the edges of the clearing around its cave. It didn’t want to be seen early, but humans were weak prey, perhaps it could scare them off or win the fight. If they didn’t have the things that would stick in him and hurt him so badly.

“His medallion, look!” Ciri held it up with trembling hands.

“Oh, he never takes that off, not ever,” Dandelion moans softly. “Oh, the thing ate him! It isn’t him, he was here hunting it, and he got eaten!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yennefer snapped. “It isn’t bloodied. It was kept in a bag wrapped in the scraps of his shirt, look.” She lifted up the black fabric scraps and the remains of the leather satchel. “This cave is filled with his blood all over the leaves,” she lifted up a few. “He’s been camping here.”

Ciri edged towards the front of the cave and froze. “Yennefer,” her voice was tight.

A smallish human, female. Another small human female, and a small male. Nothing that should be too troubling. It didn’t see any of the sharp implements that hurt it so much earlier.

“What?”

“Come here, please, look, do you see it, too?”

“See what?” the sorceress snapped impatiently, holding her hands out to try and sense more blood. There was more, something near the cave mouth. She got up and went over to Ciri and peered out over her shoulder, hands held up in front of her. “I….” she croaked. “I see… Geralt? Geralt is that you? Step into the light, come here, I can’t undo the curse if you won’t come over….”

The beast in the woods growled at her and slunk forward, teeth bared. Saliva ran over its jaws in thick ropey strands. White fur covered its body and it walked with an odd mix of all legs and just the back two, giving it an odd lolling gate.

“He’s injured… its? Mamma… is… is that Geralt?”

“Dandelion, get out of the cave, we’ll corner him in there. Or it. We’ll find out in a moment but be out of the way. Ciri, can you circle back behind it, keep it from running?”

“His eyes…. That’s… that’s got to be him….” her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. But she gathered herself. “Yes, I’ll flank him, he’s hurt badly.”

Dandelion stepped out of the cave and swore. The creature in front of him flinched and growled, peeling its lips back from bloody pink gums to bare sharp white fangs. “Geralt?” his voice came out as a whimper. “Oh, Geralt. Fuck. Yennefer it’s Geralt.”

The monster wasn’t sure what the noises meant, but they still sounded sad. A wolf with no pack. It rested a front paw on the ground, leaning heavily. Its breaths came out short and sharp, side aching. It flared its nostrils wide, taking in their scent. One smelled like ice and something else it didn’t understand. The other smelled like flowers in the meadow, and the smallest of them smelled like the sea and something it couldn’t place. Something familiar. They all smelled familiar but the monster didn’t know humans. It had always been this way, always alone, and always terrifying to behold.

When the dark haired one lifted its hands he flinched and snarled, gnashing his teeth at her. He could remember curls on his fingers. Other than he’d never had fingers. The other one, the one breathing hard and whimpering made noise. Beautiful noise with his hands and mouth. But the small one, the small one was _his._ He rushed the first one, he would chase them out and the odd feelings would stop. So would the odd images in his head.

Yennefer stepped aside when he charged, she had seen the muscles in his body tense. Dandelion was right, she could feel the magic, the curse was active and changing constantly. When his first charge didn’t work, he tried to circle back but Ciri had closed in on him and shouted, waving her arms widely behind him and Dandelion joined her, cutting off his other avenue of escape. Between the three of them blocking his way he roared in frustration and then ran into the cave, trying to defend the entryway.

Ciri brought out his medallion, holding it out to him, and he backed away, whimpering from them, the silver burned. The monster remembered the silver burned. It wanted nothing to do with them. When he made to charge them again the small one drew a blade and slapped at him with the flat of it.

He cowered low, confused, and terrified, pain glazing his eyes. It was so hard to breathe and all the exertion the humans were causing was making it even harder to get enough air. He hadn’t been eating well, barely able to hunt, and while he had done his best to pull the arrowheads from his side or to rub them against a tree and force them out, he couldn’t. The infection kept his skin hot and rotted the fur around the wound.

“Geralt, it’s me,” Ciri told him quietly.

Geralt meant nothing to him. Neither did the sounds. But the voice was kind, and he hoped that perhaps they would simply kill him quickly.

Yennefer pressed in on his other side, “this is badly infected, and has been. If he was gone at least a month before we started looking, and it’s taken us at least another one to find him… they shot at him near two months ago, it’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Fear and pain dropped him to his side, and he whimpered once, letting his head drop to the leaves, feeling them tickle against his muzzle. Drool slowly began to cover the ground under his head and he waited for them to kill him.

“Let me see, Geralt, let me see it, I can help,” she said in her best attempt at a soothing voice. “Ciri, I don’t think he’s lost all the fight in him yet. Help me. Dandelion? Get our packs, we’ll need them. Also, firewood.”

Yennefer jumped back just in time as he lunged and snapped at her, and he would have taken off her arm if she hadn’t been waiting for him to attack her.

Dandelion came back in to see Geralt lying on his side, wheezing, tongue lolling with his eyes rolling in panic in his head. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing, he tried to attack me and he keeled over,” Yennefer said brusquely.

“Yen, he’s starving,” Ciri said softly. She tried approaching him, hands out, and he lifted his muzzle and snapped at her, growling savagely.

“There’s food in the packs, Dandelion, get out all of it.”

“Will that work?” he asked quietly, dropping the packs to the ground immediately and starting to dig out their travel rations. They had dried meat, hardtack, hard cheese, and they had stopped by a small settlement at the edge of the woods and had some root vegetables and a large loaf of slightly stale bread. They had eaten the other loaves already.

Ciri wasn’t listening, she grabbed up the cheese, meat, and bread, watching Geralt as his nostrils flared and pupils dilated slightly at the sight of food. He licked his chops and continued to pant, lying there and staring at the food. He watched her, watched her hands, and when she lightly tossed a bit of meat he opened his jaws and snapped it up, gulping it down before it could be taken.

He startled when he looked at her next and she was closer, the fur rising up along his back and shoulders and he growled again, a low warning growl. Then the small one held up another piece of meat and lightly tossed it to him, and he snapped that up, as well. There wasn’t enough to fill his belly, not by a long shot, but the girl had more. The blonde girl. The one who smelled familiar. She threw him another piece and then stepped closer. He kept his hackles up, teeth bared after he ate the next piece.

Before he knew it, she was within biting distance, and held up a piece of cheese. He couldn’t recall the taste of it, but the sight and smell made him drool.

“Ciri, be careful,” Yennefer whispered, worried. “Dandelion, get us firewood, and we’ll try and set some snares, he needs to eat more. Although if we could shrink him back down to his usual size, we won’t need as much food… the… the little settlement, they were… a few hours out? Can you make it there for more food and back? Take my palfrey to carry the food, and ride Roach down, don’t take Pegasus. I know you don’t want to leave him, but I can create a spell to keep him from leaving the cave… and it won’t stick if I’m not here to hold it. Can you go?”

“Already leaving, but firewood first?”

“Please,” she said, watching those yellow eyes in the dim light of the cave. They had an odd sheen and she imagined if he’d been human, he would have burned with fever. She could smell the rot in his side. He was near the size of a horse, and she wasn’t sure how much it would take to feed him, but she could feel the edges of the curse, but not the conditions.

The bard stepped out quickly, rushing about to gather up wood. The sooner he left the sooner he could come back. And perhaps they would have made some progress with Geralt in his absence. They had healing supplies with them, they had anticipated he would be hurt. Just, not like this. They had never anticipated this.

Ciri got a little closer, holding out the rest of the cheese. He tipped his head up and his tongue flicked out to grab it, and he swallowed the chunk whole. She was close enough to rest a hand on his muzzle, but she didn’t. She could see the way he kept trying to watch both her and Yennefer, fear making his rib cage flutter as he fought to breathe. “Oh, Geralt,” she said softly. “We’re here now, we’ll fix it.” She tore the loaf of bread into chunks and sat, letting the pieces rest in her lap. She held out another one and he took it from her.

After the last chunk was devoured, she slowly reached out to touch his muzzle. “This isn’t right you know,” she told him quietly, watching as Yennefer held her hands out, brow furrowed in concentration. He flinched away from her, but she ignored it, gently stroking the damp white fur.

The noises she made almost made sense, like a forgotten memory. The food in his belly wasn’t enough, but it was different than the raw meat and whatever he could dig up and scarf down.

“Mamma, please bring me the rest of the food,” she said quietly, idly stroking the fur between his eyes. “He’s still hungry.” Ciri watched some of the fight go out of his body, paws curling as he lay there. His ears swiveled around tracking Yennefer as she moved around the cave. The panting got worse as Yennefer moved, but eased when she was back in his line of sight.

“I can’t imagine he’ll enjoy hardtack.”

“No one enjoys it, that isn’t the point,” Ciri sniffed, and then carefully fed Geralt the rest of their food supplies. He was exhausted, she could tell. He reminded her of her grandfather’s hounds after too long of a hunt. Too tired to rest. She kept up the gently stroking and leaned forward to touch his leathery ears. They were soft and warm, and his eyes closed when she started gently stroking them. Yennefer moved again, shoes scraping on the floor and his eyes opened, and he snarled again, wheezing after. “It’s alright, you’re alright,” Ciri promised him, scratching the top of his muzzle and then the rough hair of his cheeks before moving under his chin. The fur was soaked in spittle but she didn’t mind. It was Geralt. The yellow eyes closed in pleasure and she kept it up as his body slowly relaxed and eased.

Yennefer put her hands over his wound, and he opened one eye to stare, dragging his lip back over his teeth to show her their sharpness.

“Geralt, it’s alright,” Ciri said softly, and the words almost had meaning. His ears flicked forward to her and she smiled at him. “Do you want me to keep talking to you?”

Yennefer watched carefully, and then gently laid her hands on his side, feeling the heat and swelling radiating from the wound. The initial injury had to be somewhere in the middle of his ribs, but it had radiated from shoulder to flank and her heart dropped. He was very ill. Dangerously ill. Half starved, he didn’t have what he needed to fight off the infection that was killing him.

His skin twitched and rippled under her palms, and she felt tears slide over her cheeks. They could save him, it would be even easier to do it if they could turn him back. “True love often breaks curses,” she tells Ciri quietly. “Can you keep him calm while I come around to his head?”

“You plan to kiss him on the mouth?”

“No, the forehead,” Yennefer told her dryly.

Ciri stuck out her tongue impudently and continued to let her hands smooth the thick white fur under her palms. “I imagine you’re exhausted. You’ve been running a while, and you’re hurting badly. I’m sorry Geralt. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. You can understand me, can’t you? I want you to understand me.”

Yennefer knelt down at his head and gently started stroking his fur. “I love you,” she told him gently. “Even when we’re fighting, or I’m angry, I always love you. I always will. We always love each other.” She leaned over him and ignored the way his lips peeled back from his gums and kissed him gently on the top of his head, feeling the coarse fur brush her lips. She pulled away, tears dripping down her cheeks to soak into his fur. “Oh Geralt, what kind of curse weas this? Can you talk to me? Can you understand us?” There was a catch in her voice and she hated it.

Both she and Ciri waited with bated breath, and Ciri sighed when nothing happened. Tears ran down her cheeks when she realized Geralt wasn’t miraculously changing back. They sat with him, stroking and comforting him until it started to get cool.

Yennefer gathered up leaves and the firewood and started a fire. Geralt had started to tremble and she knew he was going to need help staying warm. The fur didn’t seem to be doing him much good. Not with the illness such as it was. It was obvious he had tried to get the arrowheads out, but she could see part of the shaft of one still sticking out. He had probably driven them deeper in, dangerously close to his lungs.

She planned to wait until Dandelion got back before she attempted to pull the arrows out and start any of the healing process. They would need to boil water and prepare bandages and two sets of hands wouldn’t be enough.

Ciri kept up a steady stream of chatter, and Yennefer gasped in surprise when Geralt nodded his head to something she said. Ciri looked up at her in shock, and then kept talking, her words speeding up with an almost frantic edge. He didn’t seem to know what she wanted from him when she tried asking him questions.

“Let him rest, Ciri, let him sleep, he’s exhausted.”

They kept vigil together, hands gently smoothing the matted white fur on his head and chest. Dandelion came back before full dark, laden with bags of food and more bandaging.

Geralt woke up at the sound and with raised hackles, snarling and growling, he staggered up on all fours, backing himself into the wall of the cave.

“Stop!” Ciri said quietly, holding her hands up. “Geralt, it’s me, you know me, it’s Ciri. I’m your destiny. Geralt, do you remember? I’m your destiny. Tell me, nod, something, but tell me you understand. Do it!”

“Ciri,” Yennefer said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder, not expecting Geralt to respond. But instead he whined low in his throat and ducked his head, ears flattening and tail curling up between his legs. He bobbed his head lightly and stepped closer to her, snuffling her shirt and allowing her to pet him and scratch him around his neck and under his chin.

“He understands,” Dandelion said softly, voice awed.

“Feed him,” Yennefer told him immediately. “We need to feed him,” she added. Perhaps the bard was his true love, perhaps the bard would break the spell.

Dandelion pulled a roast chicken he’d purchased specifically for Geralt. He unwrapped it from the linen it had been wrapped in. Carefully, he edged in until he could hand Geralt the food. Dandelion jumped when Geralt carefully took it from him, mindful not to bite his hands. “Oh sweet Melitele, is that really him? Is that really you? Oh, Geralt. You’re so large, how can we possibly keep you full?” He bravely put out a hand and let Geralt snuffle his palm, smiling when he received a lick for his troubles. “I love you so much,” he smiled. It was easy to step in closer and he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, kissing his cheek.

“Fuck,” Yennefer said softly, she had hoped. She had hoped so much that if it wasn’t her it would be Dandelion. They could worry about the curse once they cleaned out his wounds, at least. She would figure out how to undo it, since true love wasn’t going to do it, or he hadn’t met his yet.

“What?”

“I had hoped that would break the spell.”

“Geralt,” Ciri smiled. “Come lie down, let us see your side, it hurts right?”

Dropping his head, he let the words wash over him. He could mostly understand now. ‘Geralt’ still didn’t mean anything to him, but ‘hurt’ was a word he knew. He laid down where he was, unwilling to get too close to the flames.

“You’re so big,” Ciri mumbled, smoothing hands over his skull. “I wish you were smaller, like you were. Do you remember? Geralt? Do you remember being human?” she asked gently. “You were a good size, the proper size for a witcher. The perfect height for hugging,” she added.

“Ciri, whatever you do, keep talking, don’t stop,” Yennefer told her quietly. “Don’t stop.”

“When I was younger I barely came up to your waist, and you put me up on your shoulders in Broklin, do you remember? You called me a brat and threatened to belt me if I wouldn’t behave. Your shoulders are a little broader than Dandelion’s, do you remember? But strong. You’re so strong. And we can take care of you better if you were back to your usual size.” She felt his head start to shrink under her hands, and her breath caught in her throat only for tears to pour over her cheeks when she saw he wasn’t changing, just shrinking some. When he finished, he still looked the same, he was still covered in fur, and still barely resembled a human in the loosest sense possible.

“That’s better,” Yennefer told her.

“How do we change him back?”

“I don’t know, Ciri, but first we have to make sure he doesn’t die.”

It took them half the night to cut away the putrid flesh to allow Yennefer to pull the arrowheads out of the festering wounds they’d created. Geralt had snarled, snapped, and made pitiful attempts to attack them the pain was so bad. It was clearly he didn’t quite know them and didn’t understand all the words they said to him. When they tried to return his medallion, he whined and whimpered, drawing back with his hackles up and tail between his legs.

They stayed with him a week in the cave before they gained any more ground. Keeping the wounds clean and clear of infection had been near impossible, and he had gotten sicker and sicker with each day that passed. It was terrifying, wondering if they would lose him without him ever knowing who they were or who he was. They would have tried his elixirs but since he was nothing like himself, they didn’t know how they would react with his body chemistry and they might kill him immediately.

Dandelion made routine trips down the mountain and back to bring up more food and supplies. They kept Geralt fed, and as comfortable as they could. The next bit of progress was made when he curled up between his lovers’ bedrolls. After that, he started to respond to his name, and would nod or shake his head.

Yennefer made little to no progress on the curse other than to say it was still active and adapting and she wasn’t sure how to break it yet, it was too flexible. Geralt was also still incredibly weak and sick, and prone to pacing until he was panting too hard to breathe and would simply lay on the cave floor, wheezing until he fell asleep again. They were all miserable.

Ciri woke up, unsurprised to feel Geralt’s bulk pressed against her back. She rolled over and wrapped an arm around his neck. “You were human like us, you know,” she told him softly. She tickled his ear, watching it twitch away from her touch. “You had ears like mine. And hands I could hold. Hands that could hold me. I miss that. You weren’t covered in fur either. I used to brush your hair, do you remember? I would brush it and oil it and keep it clean. You won’t let us bathe you,” she wrinkled her nose. “Even though you need it. You make a very smelly whatever you are. I think if you had less fur it would help.” When she reached up to tease his ear again, it wasn’t there, and she sat up to look and saw a human ear nestled in all the fur, hairless and pale, just like it had been before.

When Yennefer and Dandelion woke next, they immediately noticed the change and monitored him for others, but saw nothing other than perhaps less fur, but they couldn’t be sure. He was docile at almost all times, even when having his wounds poked at.

“Geralt,” Ciri started one night, tickling the pads of his paws, pushing her fingertips against the blunt claws at the ends. “Do you ever miss holding hands? I think I would. I miss training with you, so even if you don’t miss holding hands, do you think you miss holding a sword?”

She gasped when the claws against her fingertips melted away and the pads of his paws followed after, fingers elongating as his hands became human. He flexed them in wonder, he couldn’t recall what he had looked like or felt like before. He barely knew himself, but hands made it far easier to eat. Exhausted, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until the next morning.

When he felt tapping against his teeth he woke up and tried not to snarl. It was just Ciri.

“These are ridiculously large, you know, they don’t even fit in your mouth, Geralt. What kind of idiot mage cursed you with these? It makes no sense, you can’t close your mouth, you drool all over your fur… you’re very messy.” She opened her mouth and pointed, “These are what your teeth should look like,” she informed him. “Your whole head should look more like mine,” she added. “I don’t see what the fur adds, either, if I’m being honest.”

She wasn’t surprised this time when magic crackled and swirled around him as his teeth and jaw shrank, his muzzle flattening into his skull to form an almost human jawline.

More days passed and none of her suggestions took. His memory seemed to be coming back and while he couldn’t speak, he could write, fingers in the dirt. They communicated well enough, until one day he just stopped.

When they went to bed he was there, and when they woke up, he was gone.

They split up to find him, he had remembered to hide his tracks. Ciri found him some time well after midnight.

“Geralt? Don’t run, please don’t go.”

“Ciri,” his voice grated from his throat. “Go, just go. Please…”

“Why?”

He had pressed himself against a hollow log, seeking some small shelter from the cold. No fire, nothing. No clothes. He still mostly moved hunched over, rather than upright. He was so ashamed. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” his voice broke.

“I love you,” she said simply. “How you look doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a monster,” his voice broke. He could remember now, all of it. How he had failed them. “The curse didn’t change me, it revealed me,” he told her hoarsely. “The curse was to show my true self,” he whispered, bloody tears trailing over his cheeks. “Go away, Ciri,” he told her more firmly, baring his teeth and lunging at her.

She didn’t move. “No. No, I will not. You can’t make me. You told me once you would always be there for me. We would never be apart. You haven’t done the best of jobs keeping that promise. I’m going to hold you to it, now.”

“Please,” he moaned. “Ciri, you don’t deserve the horror of having someone like me in your life.”

“Horror? The horror?” She slapped him before she could stop herself. “You idiot!” He didn’t make a move to stop her, or to cower away from another strike when she raised her hand again and she stared in shock at what she’d done. “I’m sorry!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and sobbing. “I love you, Geralt, I love you, there’s nothing horrible about you!”

He hesitated before holding her, thinking of the things he had done with his hands recently. Digging around like a boar, ripping rabbits open to eat them raw and bloody. He shouldn’t touch her. “Ciri, I’m a monster,” he told her softly. “Inside and out, I’m… let me go. I… it would be better if I just disappeared.”

“No!” she clung even more tightly to him, tangling her fingers in his fur and hanging on tightly, her tears and snot soaking the fur on his shoulder. His own bloody tears dripped into her hair, staining the strands pinkish red. “You aren’t a monster! You’re _Geralt!_ You’re a witcher, and a mutant, but _not_ a monster! Even if you never change back, even if you look like this forever, you aren’t a monster. Your outside has nothing to do with your inside! _You_ taught me that! You, and Eskel, and Lambert, and Coën. I was so afraid at first, but I know now. I know witchers are just men, Geralt.” She couldn’t keep talking when another sob choked her and she fell silent. 

Her sobs shook her entire body and she clung to him so tightly he had no hope of dislodging her. He shifted as best he could to hold her, and stroke her hair, and soothe her. He didn’t notice when her tears fell on his bare skin, didn’t notice the crackle of magic around him as he worked to hold her better, closer. He wanted to be the man she wanted him to be. He loved her. She was his child surprise.

“Ciri, I… I’m not what you think I am, I can’t be who you want me to be.”

She screamed in rage, shaking her head against his chest, slamming her fists weakly against him as she battered his chest, sobbing harshly. “Don’t leave me!”

He didn’t try to stop her from hitting him, the blows didn’t hurt. And even if they had, he deserved them. He let her vent her rage and fear against him, and ran his forearm across his nose and eyes, trying to clear them. Geralt didn’t notice he wiped tears against his skin, the fur covering his arm gone.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, rocking her back and forth on the forest floor, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of detritus poking into his legs and backside. “I love you, Ciri, I love you. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

Yennefer and Dandelion came upon them some time later, the sky grey with the coming dawn.

“Geralt!” Yennefer cried out in shock, rushing forward to drop to her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around them and kissing him hard. He looked at her in shock. He could feel her palms on his cheeks. Feel the scrape of stubble, not fur, on her hands. Her skin was cool against his, like it always was.

Before he could process it, Dandelion was at his other side, holding him tightly and swearing vehemently at him and the whole world. The bard rocked them all back and forth slightly, kissing Geralt’s face, neck, shoulder, and any part of him he could reach without pushing Ciri out of his way.

The bandaging had come loose as his body shifted and changed, and the impact and hugging along with everything else had aggravated his wounds.

“Ciri, Ciri, look, Ciri,” Yennefer stroked her hair, gently pulling her away from Geralt’s chest. “Look, look at him.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Ciri said softly, her voice full of wonder as she stoked his hair, and then his face. “You’re you again,” she hiccupped and sobbed. She ran her hands over his face and hair and shoulders over and over, kissing his cheeks and forehead as she did, frequently bumping heads with either Yennefer or Dandelion who kept touching and kissing him, too.

When he started to shiver, they pulled away in concern. Dandelion dragged off his cloak and wrapped it around Geralt’s shoulders, as Yennefer and Ciri went to get the horses. Dandelion helped him to his feet, tucking the cloak around him tightly. He held Geralt as the sun rose, glad to have him back.

Geralt had near forgotten how to walk like a man, much less ride, in the months he’d spent living as a beast. With a little help from the poet, he was able to mount up when Yennefer returned with Ciri and their mounts. They would get near the edge of the settlement and find him something to wear until they could go home.

He had agreed in spite of his deep fear, to allow Yennefer to portal them to Vengerberg after, and to begin his recovery in earnest there. His wounds would need further care, and he needed time to rest. He was exhausted. But he was home. And returned to the people who loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jfc. Ngl I think I am going to have to come back to this and turn it into a 5-6 chapter story. This was... 20-30 pages, I'm not sure. And I know it got kind of rushed, and maybe wasn't the ... I don't know.  
> I don't know if it's any good or not. I hope you guys liked it, I hope the quality didn't deteriorate as it went. 
> 
> I have... 1 chapter left of The Road Not Taken, and then a few to write for Tell Me It's Okay, and then I might come back and redo this one, and polish it up. If anyone thinks it would be worth it.  
> Dunno this is one I struggled with, I don't know how to feel about it, I hope it's good. I await your comments. <3


	7. Day 7: Kaer Morhen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell asleep before 8pm yesterday and didn't get this posted. My bad. 
> 
> Thanks to you who have commented. I appreciate you. <3 Thanks for the kudos, too. It's been fun. I didn't know I could essentially write around 53 pages in 2-3 days. Oof.

# Title: Kaer Morhen

**SHIP (if applicable): N/A  
PROMPT DAY: 6  
MEDIUM: **Netflix Series **  
WARNINGS:** N/A

**SUMMARY: “** _On the third day, all the children died save one, a male barely ten. [..] Then he was once more given elixir through the vein and the seizure did return. This time a nosebleed did ensue, coughing turned to vomiting, after which the male weakened entirely and became inert. For two days more did symptoms not subside. [..] Finally, came the seventh day. The male awoke…” -Andrzej Sapkowski_

“The path was known as the Trail, but Triss knew the young wtichers had given it their own name: The Killer.” -Andrzej Sapkowski, _Blood of Elves._

 ****  
WORD COUNT: 535  
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Well this hurt.

-

Geralt tripped on a root and burst into tears. His small hands barely came up in time to protect his face and he skinned them badly on the small rocks in the dirt. “Ma!” he screamed, hoping she would come and pick him up. She had always come when he cried for her. Now, she had asked for water, because he’d given her a headache talking too much. So he had gone to get her water and she was gone. He had dropped his bucket, and she had to be so angry with him for losing it. He was trying to find it. Alone and terrified, he pushed himself up and began doing his best to retrace his steps to the bucket so he could fetch it and she wouldn’t be angry anymore and she would come and hold him.

It felt like hours before he heard a voice in the woods say his name. “Geralt?” and he froze. It wasn’t his ma, the voice was male and he’d never known his da.

“Geralt, over here, boy, I know where your Ma is.”

“I lost the bucket!” he said shrilly in response, he couldn’t go see his ma without her water.

“Then we’ll fetch you a new one from my house and we won’t tell her. She’s at the house, but I have a bucket outside.”

Geralt ran his sleeve across his face, rubbing snot and tears all over it. He snuffled miserably and shuffled his feet. “You know where my Ma is?”

The owner of the voice came into view. A broad, shouldered heavy set man with a salt and pepper beard walked silently out of the trees. Geralt squeaked in surprise and fell over backwards.

“Up you come, boy,” rough hands grabbed him and lifted him up until he was resting against that broad chest. Deprived of any kind of security or safety for far too long, Geralt curled into the leather jerkin gratefully, hiccupping sobs still rocking his body. The rough hand patted him a bit too harshly for comfort and he resisted the urge to break into sobs. He was going to his mother, things would be okay, and if the man was telling the truth he would even have a bucket to bring her water in.

He sucked his thumb as he nestled in closer, other hand fidgeting with the medallion over the old man’s chest. It had a stylized wolf across the face and he liked to run his finger over the edges embossed into the metal. It felt nice. Geralt looked over the man’s shoulder a few times, too exhausted to keep his head up the entire way, and utterly lacking in curiosity. All he wanted was his ma.

One time he glanced up he noticed boys, not much bigger than he was, running over things in the distance. He didn’t see the doors to the keep, didn’t see the walls, what he did see as the doors began to shut in front of him once they had crossed them, was one boy miss his jump and catch his head on the log, snapping it backwards with a crunch and a spray of blood.

Then, the doors shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. End of whumpweek. 
> 
> I have some plans to expand or rewrite some of these into actual fics. If there's any you especially want to see done that way, then it is up to you, dear reader, to comment and say so. Otherwise I won't know. 
> 
> I do have a baby/teen witcher fic partially started. So if you wanted to see chunks of Kaer Morhen and younger Geralt, you will.   
> If you just enjoy whump, "The Road Not Taken" has far too much of it, and Geralt deserves a break.   
> Anyway, thanks for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I will try and update tags as I go.


End file.
